


Blame Game

by Jael_Lyn



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1947984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael_Lyn/pseuds/Jael_Lyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of murders leaves Major Crime with more questions than answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame Game

Michael Durbane was in a hurry. Keys, briefcase, cell phone, laptop - he went through the mental checklist that was an ingrained part of his morning routine. He locked up, turned around and cursed. It was pouring rain. Damn Cascade's weather. He needed the umbrella after all.

Unlock the door, find the umbrella. Precious time was slipping away, and Michael checked his watch. He could break a few speed limits and still have the time he needed before his first meeting. The key was in the lock again, but the brain was already in gear, racing through the details of the merger he planned to conclude today.

He made it to the car, depositing everything in the back seat. As he was ready to shake off the umbrella he noticed the cans dotting the street. Garbage day. No, no, no. It couldn't be garbage day. Between the internal clock in his head and real life, he was torn. He'd forgotten last week and the can was overflowing. Swearing again, he punched the door opener. If he had taken the time to park inside last night he wouldn't have forgotten.

Rain dripped down his neck. Damn the rain, damn the garbage. He should just hire a housekeeper; he certainly made enough money. If he could run a multimillion dollar company he could hire a housekeeper, for pity's sake.

His dash toward the garage ended on the third step. He heard the first pop. By the time the second and the third were echoing through the neighborhood, the umbrella was rolling lazily down the drive. By the time the garage door ground to a stop, the rain-drenched pavement of the driveway was streaked with red.

Michael Durbane wasn't going to make his meeting after all.

&&&&

"Jim, what do you think of this one?"

"It's foreign."

"Well, yeah, what's your point?" Blair threw his partner a completely disgusted look. "I'm searching for meaningful opinion here, not unsubstantiated bias. Look at the comparisons. You're supposed to be helping me here."

"Sandburg, you do not buy a car this way. There, that's my help and advice."

"Says who?" Blair frowned as his partner headed across the bullpen for coffee. "Get some for me, too. This attitude is rich, coming from the man who jinxed my Volvo."

Jim reached around the computer on Sandburg's desk, shoved a dozen papers aside and cleared a spot for the coffee. "Your filing system is a disgrace. How we find any paperwork is beyond me, and I did not jinx your Volvo. It came off the assembly line under a curse. It's not my fault it died." He pulled a chair around and dutifully looked at the screen. "Chief, let me explain. This is how you buy a car." He ticked off his points on his fingers, one by one. "You go to the Ford lot, you kick a few tires, you drive a bargain that makes them squeal, and go home with your rig. It takes two hours, tops. Why make yourself crazy?"

"Jim, come on, man. I've never bought a new car before. It needs to be - uh - special, sublime. If I'm going to be a decadent consumer, I want to get every penny's worth out of the experience."

A third voice interrupted their debate. "Sandburg, if we'd known it was going to be this much trouble, we never would have made you a detective and given you a salary." Simon had his suit coat slung over his shoulder, and was clearly not in a sunny mood. "I would have enrolled you in community college and kept you as an impoverished student observer. Can I interrupt this little exercise in comparative shopping and talk police work? My office, now."

"Yes, sir." Jim shrugged. "Remember what I said, Sandburg," he said, lecturing over his shoulder as they walked. "Ford, blue or green, two hours, and spring for the CD player."

"CD player. Jim, you are so behind, man. Blue tooth and XM. Voice activated dialing."

Jim looked skyward. "God help us."

Twenty minutes later they were still crowded around Simon's small conference table, passing files back and forth. "I don't get it, Simon," Jim said. "I don't see anything to tie these together. Why are they getting thrown our way? I hate to admit it, but murder happens all the time in Cascade." He flicked the edge of a couple of folders. "These two aren't even in our jurisdiction."

"That's why I'm giving them to you," Simon said patiently. "See if there is a connection. The new regional computer system kicked these out. Statistically, this is an unusually high incidence, even for us. The Deputy Chief was at some interagency meeting and it was brought up. He volunteered Cascade PD to provide the human touch. He picked me, and I picked you two. Simple."

"Simon, you can't make a connection if it doesn't exist," Blair said. "Just because it's statistical doesn't mean it's true. Correlation versus cause and effect."

"Which is exactly why I selected the only team in the building that includes a scientist," Simon said. "Go be scientific. You heard me, go. Let me know as soon as you have results."

"Does that include negative results, sir?" Jim asked sarcastically.

His only answer was a withering look from his captain.

The two detectives promptly commandeered one of the conference rooms. They divided up the files to reread the original investigation notes. After about an hour they traded files.

"You think we've been in here long enough to tell Simon to forget it?" Jim asked, looking up wearily from his last file. "Isn't this the dumbest thing we've ever been asked to do?"

"No."

"No what? No it's not dumb, or no, we haven't been here long enough?"

Blair didn't answer immediately. Finally, without looking up from his reading, he murmured, "No to both questions, I guess."

"Sandburg, all we have here is politics. Our deputy chief felt like being a big shot and invited every jurisdiction within fifty miles to dump their unsolved murders for the last two months on us. We have two stabbings, four shootings with wildly different weapons, a strangulation, a drowning, and a hit and run. Tell me how these are supposed to be connected, other than by some bureaucratic flight of fancy."

"So sort them," Blair said, still completely distracted. "Make a chart."

Jim rolled his eyes. "A chart of what?" he asked sarcastically.

Blair shoved a marker across the table. "Write the names and we'll see. Humor me."

Jim went to the white board and wrote. Since he didn't have any fabulous suggestions, it wouldn't hurt to go with the flow. "I'll start with gender, but it's useless," he volunteered. "They're evenly split between men and women."

"Write it down, but I think we can forget age, too." Blair was still speaking in a distant, almost day-dreamy voice. "Put associations, religion, marital status, employment." He went silent again, lost in his own thoughts.

Jim started filling in what he could. "If we're looking at stuff like that, we're going to have to re-interview." He sifted through files, gleaning information while Blair continued to read. "I'm afraid it still looks like gibberish. We've got a banker, two CEO's, a tech entrepreneur, a convenience clerk, an accountant..."

"STOP."

Jim stared at his partner as if he were crazy. "Stop what? Sandburg, maybe you should go lie down."

Blair was staring at the board. "I'm serious. How much do you think these people make?"

"I don't know," he answered thoughtfully. "We have places of employment, not their financial statements. What are you getting at?"

"This is more your territory than mine, partner. What would a CEO or a banker make?"

Jim considered that for a moment. "Depends," he said.

"Guess."

"You're right, Chief. With the exception of Whittier and Timms, judging from the addresses and vehicles, all of them are doing well. Real well, as a matter of fact. We can sure go back and ask, but I'd say six figures at a minimum."

"Remember those Department of Justice statistics we were supposed to look at?" Blair asked.

"Shit, yes. I remember being bored to tears. You're more likely to be murdered if you're under twenty-four. Nine times out of ten a property crime involves an elderly person. So what? We've got people so diverse I don't see..." His voice drifted off. "Yes, I do."

Blair finished his thought. "More than half of all murder victims are low income. We potentially have seven out of nine that most people would consider wealthy. Not exactly the ninety-nine percent, if you get my drift."

"How do you remember this stuff, Sandburg?"

"I don't know. It just stuck in my head. Sixty percent of murder victims earn less than ten thousand a year. I remember thinking that I'd spent my entire life in the high risk group." He gestured at the board. "If this was a random sample, we'd expect something close to the same pattern."

"Maybe it's just a weird coincidence. Feel free to fill in the correct blanks with the scientific mumbo-jumbo."

Blair grinned. "We would call it an anomaly due to small sample size. Geographically induced sampling bias."

"Great. I'll tell Simon it's an anomaly and he can look it up in the dictionary. Either that, or we have a serial killer who's after rich people. All the cops and college students in the city are safe." He looked at his partner, trying to read his expression. "Okay, Chief, I'll quit being sarcastic. What do you say we start with the most recent victim, Michael Durbane. His case is in our jurisdiction, at least."

"I'll go call the investigating officers and set up a meeting."

"If this is the angle we're going to follow, we'll need financial records," Jim said. "I'll talk to Simon about getting the DA on board. That way if we need subpoenas, maybe we won't have to wait for a lifetime."

"Good thought," Blair said. "For the moment, let's exclude Timms and Whittier. I'll see about having all the forensics evidence transferred down here."

"It's your turn to sweet talk Serena this time, Chief. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to go over all these cases looking for overlap that might not even exist. Be your charming self."

"Great, Jim. Stick me with the really hard jobs."

Jim poked his head back in the conference room. "Take her for a ride in your new car. The blue Ford with the CD player. Maybe she'd go for leather seats."

"I am not buying a Ford," Blair muttered. "And I know you can hear me just fine."

&&&&

The investigating officers on the Durbane case could offer no help. They left the distinct impression of being glad to pawn a loser case off on someone else. Other than the recovered bullet, the forensics evidence was non-existent. They had no leads. No neighbors had heard the shots, although several were home at the time. They concluded the weapon had been silenced, which added an ominous note to the investigation.

Their next stop was Durbane's business. His secretary and co-workers were devastated. He seemed genuinely well-liked by his employees. The detectives spent most of their time with his co-owner, Tim Wilkins.

"I don't know what to tell you," Wilkins said. "I'm going to be lost without him. He had an incredible head for business. I did the nuts and bolts with the books, but Michael had the vision."

"We realize you've answered all these questions before, Mr. Wilkins, but we need to dig deeper," Jim said. "Anything you can tell us might be the critical piece of information."

"There's just so little to tell. Michael was totally absorbed with the business. He loved it. We've made money hand over fist in the last five years, and Michael only bought three things for himself: a home gym, his car, and his home. The house is still furnished with all the junk we had as roommates in college."

"What did he do with his money? What about a social life?" Blair asked.

"As innovative as he was in business, you'd think Michael would be out there with his investing. It was a complete contradiction, but he was very conservative with his personal finances. As for dating, unless one of our college buds set him up with someone, he couldn't be bothered. He never misled or hurt anybody, but he just wasn't interested in a serious relationship. It was all my wife could do to get him over for dinner once a week."

"Was he driven?" Jim said. "How did his competitors feel?"

Wilkins shook his head. "I know what you're thinking. Business can be cutthroat, and someone successful would make enemies. Michael didn't look at it as dominating some other company, or crushing the competition. He just wanted our business to grow and have new opportunities to pursue. When we bought someone out, he wanted it to be as much win-win as possible. He was good at it."

"Maybe someone wasn't as happy with things as he was," Blair suggested. "Did any of those deals cost someone their job? Or cause someone to lose money, or influence?"

"I wondered the same thing. I'll give you a list of all of our acquisitions for the past two years before you go. Maybe you can find something I can't."

"Can you think of anyone who would benefit from his death?"

"You mean in terms of his estate?" Wilkins swallowed, visibly upset. "Me, I guess. Right out of school we set the business up so it went to the other in case of death. We added some additional provisions for Kristen when I got married. Both his parents are dead, and he has no siblings." Wilkins rustled around in his desk and handed over a business card. "We have the same lawyer. I'll call him and request that he answer any of your questions. As far as I'm concerned, anything you want to look at you can have, and that includes our business records." He wiped a trace of moisture from his eyes. "You'll have to forgive me. I cared about Michael, not his money. He was my best friend."

The two detectives stared at each other bleakly when they climbed back into the truck. They had a list of business dealings and not much else.

"Jim, no one wanted that man dead," Blair finally said.

Jim turned the key thoughtfully. "I agree. We'll work backwards through the victims. Next to Durbane, the most recent one was Kim Hermann. She was drowned last week." The words were out of Jim's mouth before he could stop them. Drowning. Now there was a sensitive subject in their journey together. He looked quickly in Blair's direction. Blair showed no reaction. Instead, he was in what Jim privately called "professor" mode - distracted and brilliant.

"If there's a connection, it will either be in how they made their money, or how they spent it. I don't know, Jim. Durbane made money, but he didn't spend it. Maybe there's nothing to find."

"Unfortunately, I don't think that answer is going to satisfy anyone." He pulled out his cell phone. "While we're driving over to the first business on Wilkins' list, see if you can track down the investigating officers for Kim Hermann. The number for Evergreen County Sheriff is in the memory."

They spent the remainder of the afternoon going from business to business, with little to show for it. Wilkins seemed to be correct. When people did business with Michael Durbane, it seemed to work out well for everyone. The deputy who had the Hermann case in Evergreen County met them halfway at a coffee shop on the freeway. While Jim joined him in a piece of chocolate cream pie, he filled them in.

"You already have the case file, but I made you a copy of my notes," he said, handing it to Blair. "This is a strange one, and it gives me the creeps. I'd say it was premeditated, angry, and very personal. No forced entry that we could find. As far as I can tell, the guy walked right up to the door and she let him in. Poor lady had a garden pond and he drowned her in it. There were bruises on the back of her neck where he forced her under."

"You're sure it was a man?" Jim said.

"We could debate it," the deputy said, taking another bite of pie. "The bruise patterns weren't a help. The ME thought maybe the killer had something between his hands and her neck. The markings were very diffuse. Anyway, here's my reasoning. Kim Hermann was five ten and fit. Worked out faithfully, lifted weights, former college athlete, the whole nine yards. Autopsy and the crime scene indicate she wasn't unconscious when she drowned. Unless she was drowned by an Amazon, I see a man. We did check out her ex-husband, by the way. He has an iron-clad alibi. Her son is away at school. She didn't have a significant other that we could find."

"What about work?" Jim asked, watching his partner more than the deputy. Blair didn't look up. He was busy writing notes.

"You're in luck. She was in real estate, and her office is only about a mile from here. I've talked with them, but if you're looking for connections, I'd start there." He handed a card to Blair and grabbed the check. "Let me know if I can help. I'll call her boss and let him know you're coming."

Blair looked across the table and asked, "What would your real estate lady do to make you mad enough to kill? It doesn't make any sense."

"Spoken like someone who has never bought a house, but you're right. Nothing about this makes any sense, Chief. Let's go, and hope for a confession."

&&&&

An hour later, Jim was in the truck by himself, leaning his head against the steering wheel. His hands were gripped around the wheel so tight the knuckles were white. He had both side windows rolled down, and the rain was soaking him on the left side.

He could hear Blair splashing across the asphalt parking lot. Instead of getting in, he stood outside the driver's side window, ignoring the rain. "How are you doing, Jim?" he said. When Jim hunched his shoulders he switched to a whisper. "Are you dialed down?"

"Yeah. Not helping."

"Tell me whatever you can." Blair tried to keep his voice calm, but he was in a state of near-panic. Jim wasn't prone to wild losses of sensory control anymore. It was usually a signal that something very bad was going on in his friend's life.

"Don't know. The ventilation came on in Barker's office and - it was chemical. I didn't recognize the scent. It was like breathing fire."

"Does it still hurt now?"

Jim's head nodded ever so slightly. "Better outside. Head hurts."

"You went white as a sheet. If it was that intense, you did a great job getting out of there without creating a scene. I told Barker you'd been fighting the flu." Blair shivered as a raindrop trickled down his back. "Look, just slide over and I'll drive us back to the loft. We can keep the windows down. It might be a little damp, but maybe the air movement will do you some good." Before he climbed in he shed his own coat and tucked it around Jim's legs. "Try to lean your head back and just concentrate on breathing."

"Talk to me."

Jim's voice was so pained Blair couldn't refuse, even if he had wanted to. Jim needed a focus to replace whatever had seared his sense of smell. "Okay. Close your eyes." He thought for a moment. It wasn't always easy to come up with something on the fly like this. "Imagine an open window. That's right. There's a breeze blowing the curtains, and everything is light and fresh. It's salty, right off the ocean. You like the ocean." The tension in Jim's shoulders eased just a bit. "That's it. Replace the bad with the good. Bring everything in - the waves crashing and the spray on your face."

"Better," Jim whispered.

"Okay then, just relax and keep it up. I'm taking the long way home. We're not taking the freeway with the windows down."

A good fifteen minutes passed before Jim straightened up and said in an almost normal voice, "What do you say, Chief? Roll the window up and turn on the heat?"

"Welcome back, man. You sure?"

"Yeah."

Blair sighed in relief as the heater came on. He was soaked to the skin and freezing. "Jim, you scared me half to death. I can't remember the last time you had a reaction like that." He noted the expression on Jim's face. "Don't you dare apologize, either. It was surprising, not life threatening. If it makes you feel better, I quizzed Barker before I left. They were refinishing floors in the back. They must have started using a solvent or something that you haven't encountered before. Considering the circumstances, you did everything right. Getting out of the building was the best choice."

"Don't be so - accommodating," Jim said. "I screwed up our interview. Shit, I screwed up our day."

"No you didn't. Most people would call it a full day by now, and we got what we really needed."

"How can you say that?" Jim asked irritably. "I messed up and I don't need to be coddled. I should have a handle on this sentinel stuff."

"Jim, maybe we can leave the recriminations for later. We found out that Kim Hermann is a carbon copy of Durbane; a successful, well-liked individual who is brutally murdered out of the blue. We have another victim with no known enemies and little likelihood of making any."

"And this is supposed to be progress?" Jim said sarcastically.

"In a fashion. Like you said, a straightforward confession would have been nice. I was sort of hoping that greasy looking guy in the reception area would give himself up," Blair said, trying to joke. Jim wasn't buying it. If Jim wanted serious, he could do serious. He reached across the cab and pulled a disk out of his coat pocket, which was still draped over Jim's lap. "They had her laptop in the office. They downloaded her client list for me."

"A client list for a successful real estate agent? How are we supposed to backtrack all of those?" Jim said.

"We're not. Tomorrow we'll keep working back through all of our victims. Somewhere, there will be a common thread. We'll find it."

"Assuming it's there," said Jim, his tone pessimistic.

&&&&

At the loft, Blair steered his partner directly into the shower, hoping the steam would finish the job of clearing Jim's sense of smell. Then he called Simon and explained why they were abbreviating their work day. It wasn't really that early, but normally they would have worked far into the night. Simon suggested sending the remaining case files over to the loft, and Blair readily agreed. It might keep Jim out of the guilts if they could keep doing something related to the case.

Dinner was the next issue. If Jim was having sensory problems, a meal needed to be chosen with care. Blair considered the leftovers in the fridge and ruled them out. Everything was way too spicy. He opted for some fresh pasta tossed with butter and parmesan, a very boring salad and tea.

He was starting to worry that Jim had zoned in the shower when the water shut off. He was busy tearing up the lettuce when Jim called to him from the bathroom, asking for some clothes. That request was a bit odd. Jim usually just wrapped up in a towel and hit the stairs if there were no visitors in the loft. Something was definitely up. Blair quickly chose an old pair of jeans and a sweater he knew Jim especially liked, things that would qualify as non-irritating to a sentinel. He hustled downstairs.

Blair knocked gently. "Jim, here are your clothes. You okay in there?" Blair decided to live with the muffled, "Yeah," and let it go. Since the door didn't open, he set the pile on the floor by the door and went back to his cooking.

A few minutes later, Jim was standing in the kitchen. His normal color was back, but he seemed unusually tired. "Sorry about the clothes," he said apologetically. "I wanted to stay in there in the steam." With no further explanation he helped with the plates and silverware. Blair was about to serve when Jim looked at him as if he'd just arrived. "Damn, Chief, you're still wet, and you're shivering. What am I thinking? Get out of here and take a quick shower. There won't be a lot of water left, but you can at least warm up." When Blair didn't move, Jim took the pasta bowl from his hands and waved him away. "Go. This can wait a few minutes. I'll build a fire and warm up the place a little bit."

&&&&

Simon poked his head out of his office. The bullpen was deserted with the exception of Joel Taggert. He'd been working with Megan, but their favorite Australian was in court at the moment. Joel, in his typical low-key manner, had spent the afternoon finishing up paperwork for other detectives, and generally making himself useful. Simon considered again how grateful he was to have his old friend in the department full time. In a group of unique, often feisty personalities, Joel was the man who kept everyone together and working harmoniously. The beauty of it was that the more volatile members never figured it out. Simon chuckled inwardly. The exception, of course, was Sandburg, who figured out everything.

"Hey, Joel, can I bother you a minute?" He motioned the big man into his office. "Ellison and Sandburg had some complications. How would you feel about making it an early night and running some files by the loft? I could draft a uniform to do it, but you've done enough of everyone's dirty work for the day."

"Sure, Simon. I don't mind." Joel grinned amiably. "I didn't mind the paperwork either. I hate being bored. This wouldn't be the new case I heard Jim grousing about, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, it would be," Simon answered, struck again by his friend's awareness of the department around him. "It's been awhile since I've seen Jim that surly. It almost reminded me of the pre-Pendergrast days."

"Perish the thought." Joel headed for the door, and then hesitated. "You know, Simon, we can pretend that you aren't my boss for a minute, and you can tell me what's bugging you."

"Taggert, if that came out of anyone else's mouth, I'd toss them out on their ear." Simon tried to muster up some indignation and failed. Joel just smiled. "Ah, forget it. Sit down."

"We should be doing this over a beer in some pathetic bar, eating some junk that will wreck my diet," Joel said, pulling up a chair.

"If I didn't have a dinner meeting with the Chamber of Commerce, that's exactly where we'd be." He poured Joel some coffee and refilled his own. He joined his friend and they sat in silence for a few moments, sipping thoughtfully.

"Sorry, Simon," Joel deadpanned, "but this just doesn't replace the peanuts and the beer." They both cracked up. "Spit it out, Simon. What's the problem?"

Simon looked at his friend, all levity aside. "My best investigative team is in trouble, and not only have I failed to protect them, I think I'm making it worse."

&&&&

By the time Blair was toweling off his hair, the fire was going and Jim had everything on the table. "I appreciate the thought," Jim said, "but I added some stuff to the salad. I know you were trying to give my senses a break, but things are better now. Did you get warmed up?"

Blair nodded. He sat down and pulled some thick wool socks over his feet. The feeling was delicious. "Fire feels good. It really takes off the chill." Jim served up the pasta and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, Blair finally asked, "Do you want to go to Kim Hermann's place tomorrow? See what we can find?"

"No. We're not going there," Jim said sharply.

Blair was taken aback by the tone. "Thanks for including me in the decision. Think we might be able to discuss it, or am I just along for window dressing?" Blair set down his fork and then started to clear his plate. "I think I'll go read or something."

"Sandburg, I didn't mean it that way."

"Of course you did," Blair answered irritably, still standing by the table. "You've made up your mind about something concerning OUR case, and you don't intend to change it. That fact may not include your motivation, but there it is."

"I apologize. Sit down and finish your dinner." Jim tilted his head to one side and shrugged. "Please? I concede the point. Eat."

Blair was genuinely puzzled and sat down. Jim would shoulder the blame for all kinds of things completely beyond his control. That was normal. Jim apologizing for something he said? That was right up there near the top of the weirdness scale. Blair fiddled with the pasta, unsure what to do next.

"I guess we should talk about it," Jim said flatly.

"Uh, we could. I actually expected you to put up more of a fight than that."

"I'm too tired to fight. I don't want you to go to Hermann's crime scene because it was a drowning."

"Do you expect me to freak out or something?" Blair asked gently.

"I don't know what I expected. I just know it makes me uncomfortable, and I don't want to go, but I have to. Somehow, I think it won't be as awful if you're not there." He dropped his own fork with a clatter. "See? Completely selfish. Didn't have anything to do with you at all."

"I guess I can live with that explanation as long as you understand my position. After this afternoon, I'm not happy about you going anywhere without me right by your side. End of story."

"But..."

"I'm serious about this, Jim. If it's a problem for me, I know you'll be there. We're official partners now. We don't leave each other behind any more." Jim nodded, and Blair decided to continue. "Somehow, I don't think that's all. You've had a burr under your saddle all day. What is it with you and this case?"

"What makes you think I have a problem with the case?" Jim said defensively.

Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh, let's see. Sarcasm at every turn? Less than your usual obsession with a new case? Wanting to bail on it at every opportunity?"

"You didn't say anything about whacked out senses."

"No, I didn't. Are you?"

"I don't think so, but I can't give you a better explanation." Jim stared at the fire. He looked completely deflated. "I'm just so angry, for lack of a better word."

"Because we got dumped on? Jim, it's not the first time we've drawn a lousy case because you have a reputation for being the best. How is this any different?"

"It just is. It makes me feel like a cartoon character or something."

"That does it." Blair threw up his hands. "I'm totally lost. I'll clear, but we're leaving the dishes for later. I'm getting both of us a beer. Then we're going to put our feet up, and you're going to explain the cartoon thing." He grabbed both plates and marched resolutely to the kitchen. "By the way, am I the coyote or the roadrunner?"

"You are so full of it, Sandburg," Jim said, accepting the beer. "I didn't say a thing about a specific cartoon." The two men dropped onto the couch. "There's something insulting about the way this case got thrown our way. I want to say this right, so you'll really understand." He stopped to gather his thoughts. "Even without the sentinel stuff, I know I'm a good cop. It takes hard work, and you need to have a gift for it. You have that same gift. Truthfully, if you toss out the live-action stuff, you're better at it than I am." He brushed off Blair's protest. "I mean it. Together, we're awesome. That's not false pride, it's true. We have the stats to prove it. I'm okay with people knowing that. It's just that - since the diss thing - shit, Chief, don't look that way. Just hear me out."

"You did EVERYTHING to put a messed up situation right. It wasn't your fault to begin with, and you gave up a lot to put things back on track. You became a cop and I think we've both been happy." Jim looked down, picking at the label on his bottle. "Problem is, even though we've denied it, the sentinel stuff has become part of the folklore. It's subtle, but people look at - me - us - differently. It's not a nice different."

"I guess for me, it isn't significantly different now," Blair answered honestly. "The majority of people at the station always let me know they didn't think I belonged there. Thing is, I'm seeing it from my point of view, not yours."

"Try this. Instead of 'give the case to Ellison, he's a good cop', now it's 'give the case to superman and we'll see what happens'. That's a huge difference."

"You mean it's flippant?"

"Yeah, like they don't take it seriously. Like they're poking the animal in the cage, just to see if it growls." Jim stared at the floor. His face was totally blank. "The murder victims deserve better. We got these cases almost for someone's entertainment, not because the department is making their best effort to find the killer. It denigrates any efforts we actually make. If we do mange to solve it, we just reinforce the folklore."

"And that makes the next request more outlandish?" Blair guessed.

Jim nodded. "To make it worse, I think Simon sees it that way, too."

"Jim," Blair said reproachfully. "Simon doesn't believe anything of the sort." Blair's eyes narrowed. "You heard something, didn't you? By accident maybe, but you heard it. Now you can't get it out of your system and confront Simon, because of the way you found out in the first place."

"I don't believe you. I hate it when you do that, Chief."

"Do what?"

"Take some ridiculously slim piece of information and just know intuitively what is going on. It's worse than me eavesdropping with sentinel hearing. The CIA would pay money to have you do interrogations."

"Quit stalling, Jim."

"Dammit, Sandburg, let it go. You know the gist." The two men stared at each other. Then Jim stared at the ceiling. Blair's gaze never flickered. Jim sighed in total defeat. "Having this conversation with you is like fighting a canon with a squirt gun. I heard Simon with a couple of the other captains coming out of department meeting. They were just joshing around, but it was pretty unflattering. Simon didn't exactly contradict them. If anything, he joined right in."

"Jim, listen to me, as an anthropological observer. Context is everything. You didn't see their facial expressions. You weren't privy to the conversation that preceded what you heard. Please trust me on this one. Simon has too much respect for you as a friend and a police officer to treat your talents lightly." Blair nudged his knee with a stocking foot. "I can tell that went in one ear and out the other."

"It doesn't really matter how I feel about it. When you're given an order, or a case assignment, you do it."

"That's real nice, Jim, until it starts messing with your senses."

"I knew we were going to get around to that sooner or later. The two aren't related."

"Correction, you wish the two weren't related. I want you to talk to Simon. Jim, are you listening to me?"

Jim's head was cocked and his body had gone tense. "Let it go for now, Chief. Someone's here - just coming off the elevator."

"It's the case files. Simon was sending them over," Blair said, hoping to soothe his partner a little. Jim was already on his feet, approaching the door as if an assault team were on the other side. He jerked the door open on the first knock, and a startled Joel Taggert jumped back in self defense. Files went flying.

"Jim! It's just me." Jim said nothing, but looked a little chagrined. Both men gathered up the scattered folders. Joel smiled and tried to put his embarrassed colleague at ease. "What happens when the hostiles show up? Laser guns hidden in the walls?" He handed his share of the folders to Jim.

"Sorry, Joel. Guess it was a long day."

"I'll take those for you." Blair swept up, taking the situation in stride. He stepped between the two men and gave Jim a gentle shove toward the kitchen. "Get Joel a beer, Jim." He motioned Joel over to the couch. "Thanks for bringing these. I didn't expect Simon to send them over with you. I hope it wasn't inconvenient."

"Not a problem," Joel answered gently, watching Jim retreat to the kitchen with obvious concern. "Megan's in court, and I was at loose ends today. Thanks, Jim," he said, accepting the chilled bottle. "Simon was a bit concerned. He cleared me to help out tomorrow, at least in the morning. You have something I can do?"

"Did Simon give you any of the details?"

"Case-wise, no, he didn't. Between you and me, he was having chain-of-command problems on this." He smiled at the glances exchanged between the two partners. Score one for Taggert. "Come on, boys. Your captain isn't going to whine about his problems to young whippersnappers like you when he gives you a lemon. He's going to confide in the more mature members of the department." He chuckled. Jim's stormy look told him all he needed to know. Score two. "Sandburg, do I need to go get my kevlar out of the car?"

Blair whapped Jim on the arm. "No. Jim's just a little tense, right, Jim? You want some dinner, Joel, or a sandwich? I think it's a great idea for you to look over this with us, just to get another viewpoint."

"Sure," Joel said amiably. "All I got out of Simon for listening to his tale of woe was coffee. At least you guys have beer."

&&&&

One by one, each envelope was opened, its contents crushed in rage.

It was so unfair. It never stopped. They were always blaming him, punishing him, and it wasn't his fault.

So they wanted his car now. He'd have to hide it. If he left it near the rental, it was too easy a target for some repo guy. That would need to be done tonight.

It wasn't his fault. It had never been his fault. He'd been the victim. He was a successful man, a player, and they'd taken advantage of him. Who was protecting his interests, his rights?

He gathered up all the bills, the threatening letters, all of it and dumped them in a dingy sink. Lighting a match, he dropped it into the pile of mangled paper, and watched as the edges browned and curled and crumbled. It was - satisfying.

He'd stopped being a victim. Strike out at the real culprits, punish the guilty - again.

Soon.

&&&&

"Good sandwich, Sandburg," Joel said.

"Yeah, Chief, good sandwich." Jim's mood had improved considerably. The tiny lines of tension around his eyes had vanished, indicating that his headache was gone. Despite eating dinner, he'd wolfed down the roast beef and cheddar right along with Joel. In Blair's eyes, he was a sentinel on the mend, at least for the moment, and that was a relief.

"Actually, guys, I think you've taken the correct approach. Just assume that the relationship between the cases is there rather than try to impose one. It might take longer, but ..."

"That's understating it, Joel," Jim interrupted. "I'd feel a lot better if we could focus the investigation."

"Maybe," Joel said. "Consider this. A focus would just be a guess. You could make guesses forever and just miss what is really connecting these murders. It might feel better, and be less productive in the long run." He polished off the last of the sandwich. "I don't want to insult anyone here, but you need more help with this."

"Maybe we should just see how it goes for a few days," Blair said quickly. Considering Jim's current mood, he might well take offense. Joel was just trying to be helpful, but Jim might not see it that way.

Joel was persistent. "I disagree. Jim's right. Without a focus, the possibilities are all open. This needs a lot more legwork than just one team can handle. Why don't you let me take the list of businesses you got from Durbane's partner? That way the two of you can keep working through the other victims. I can just concentrate on the time consuming follow-up."

"As much as I appreciate the offer, I can't see Simon throwing a lot of manpower on this," Jim said. His voice had just a trace of bitterness. "He had his reasons for giving this mess to us."

Joel stood up. "Thanks for the meal, Blair. It was great." Then he looked straight at Jim, leaving no doubt as to whom he was addressing. "Simon has his own concerns about this situation. I won't repeat our conversation, but I know what he's going to say when I call him tonight, and I am calling him." He watched Jim's expression carefully. True to form, Jim revealed nothing. Finally Joel said, "Jim, unless you specifically ask me not to, I'll make that call."

After a long moment of silence, Jim finally said, "Go ahead. I won't object."

Blair showed their friend to the door. When he completed his social duties, he realized Jim was gone. Ignoring the rain, he was standing on the balcony, no doubt wrapping himself in the sights, smells and sounds of the city that was his territory. Blair knew from long experience that when Jim retreated in this way, there was no point in pushing. Any further revelations wouldn't be forthcoming tonight. He shut off the lights and went to bed.

&&&&

Joel didn't waste any time. Jim was barely out of the shower the next morning when the phone rang. The conversation was short and to the point.

"Hey, Sandburg," Jim called, banging on the bathroom door. Blair would have a hard time hearing him over the shower. "Taggert wants us to meet him for breakfast. Get a move on. We need to leave in ten." Jim ignored the protests gurgled from the depths of the shower with a grin. Blair always complained in the morning.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Joel had already ordered coffee for three, a pile of buttermilk donuts and a fruit plate. Jim's passion for buttermilk donuts was legendary. Blair, predictably, rolled his eyes and prepared to take Joel to task.

"Don't start with the 'Dangers of Cholesterol' speech, Blair," Joel said, placating the young man right off the bat. "The fruit is healthy. Big guys like Jim and me, we have special dietary requirements."

"Yeah," Jim said, chiming in eagerly. "We'd be shadows of our former selves on healthy." He wasted no time with the donuts. "These are good, Taggert. Excellent choice."

Blair threw him a disgusted look and studied the menu. He shook his head as Joel stage whispered to Jim, "Forget the menu. I have ours picked out already. You'll be a happy man."

Blair was still a bit grumpy, even after he'd finished his oatmeal, bagel and several cups of coffee. In contrast to the previous evening, Jim was almost gleeful. It was a red letter day when he scammed his partner for eggs, bacon and donuts in the same morning. Their conversation finally moved toward their case. Simon had assigned Taggart to the investigation for the duration.

"He decided to send Megan to a training seminar at the academy for a week," Joel said. "That frees me up to help you guys."

Jim nearly choked on his coffee. "You're kidding," he said, setting the mug down hastily. "We should have heard her screaming by now. Is that why we're meeting here instead of the station?"

"Are you implying some cowardice on my part, Ellison?" Joel shook his head reproachfully. "To think you'd cast those kinds of aspersions on my character." Both men cracked up. "Of course it's why we're here. If Simon's smart, he'll find a couple of all day meetings to attend."

"Megan hates seminars almost as much as Jim does," Blair said. "Why did he ship her off like that? We could have used both of you."

"He's supposed to send her to stuff like that under the exchange agreement," Joel explained. "Another one of those details the lowly troops don't have to worry about. She's such a good detective he hates to waste her, but he can't avoid it forever. It seemed like a good time."

They divided up the work load. Joel would take the business follow-ups, as he had suggested the previous evening. He also volunteered to take one of the strangulations. The victim was the only African American on the list, and Joel said he knew her husband through a church organization. The Ellison-Sandburg team would move to the next most recent victim, who had been shot at close range behind his office.

"Maybe we can meet for lunch and compare notes," Joel said, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Not a chance," said Blair firmly. "Meet at the station at noon. Another meal like that and you'll both stroke out by mid-afternoon. I'll bring salads."

&&&&

Simon glanced at the clock. It was only 8:30 in the morning, and it felt more like noon. He had come in early to try to get some paperwork done. First he'd fielded Joel's call. That was to the good, at least. Maybe he'd be able to salvage that situation.

Then two people called in sick. Rhonda's computer ate the budget report and he couldn't find the backup disk. Connor had arrived and departed, fuming. He needed to call New South Wales and find out if she talked like that at home. To top it off, sometime during Megan's rant, Deputy Chief Martinson had called. Ellison and Sandburg hadn't even had the case for twenty-four hours and the boys upstairs were already dogging them.

Simon tore up the message and sat down angrily at the computer. Email time, and it was best to be blunt. No - no update, no meeting, no press release, no...no...no...no. Simon typed furiously, leaving out the only thing he really wanted to say.

&&&&

Tyler Hsu's office was nestled in the acres of new office parks that had sprouted up north and east of the city. Detectives from the Silver Lakes Precinct had taken the initial call.

"I've never been in this precinct, Jim. Want to fill me in?"

"Not much to tell. Mostly residential, so they do a lot of property crimes. Office buildings and specialty malls don't usually generate a lot of the violent stuff we see downtown. They wear nice suits and don't run any overtime. Ticks Simon off when he has to turn in our budgets."

"Is that the nice way of telling me things aren't as frantic in the hinterlands?"

"I wasn't trying to be nice," Jim muttered. "In my experience, they're a bunch of slackers. Who were the investigating officers again?"

"West and Pratt. You know either of them?"

"I know Pratt. He did a rotation through vice while I was there, and then went to Silver Lakes. Seemed like a total waste to me."

"Maybe they needed a sort of resident expert or something," Blair suggested, enjoying Jim's irritation.

"You bet," Jim said sarcastically. "They run a lot of prostitution rings out of those high tech firms. The cutsie little boutiques are really drug labs and gambling dens on the side." He pulled into a parking space. "Let's just get out of here fast. I always feel like I'm visiting my dad's country club."

"We could have dressed up," Blair said as they climbed the steps. "I could have worn - actually, what should one wear?"

"Nothing you own, Sandburg. Next time I'll bring Rafe and be done with it."

Their reception inside was chilly, and Jim responded in kind. Despite the requests that had gone through channels the day before, the case files weren't ready. The file folder left for them, labeled 'Hsu', contained only a single Xerox sheet. West and Pratt were late. The atmosphere didn't improve when they finally showed up. They actually did look exactly as Jim had predicted - too perfectly groomed to be doing anything down and dirty.

"Ellison," said Pratt, giving him a curt nod. "Been a long time since vice. My partner, Nick West." He pointedly ignored Blair.

Blair threw his partner a warning look, and Jim let the slight go. "We just wanted to touch base with you on Hsu." He flipped the folder open on the table. "I'm sure two old hands like you guys have more than this."

"We sent the forensics evidence," West said quietly, but his eyes were on his partner. "Maybe it got delayed or something."

"What about the case notes?" Jim asked. "Interview summaries? You have any thoughts you want to share with us?"

"No," said Pratt. Blair shifted uneasily. If this guy had worked with Jim for any time at all, he had to know that he was living dangerously. The two faced off for a few moments and Pratt shrugged contemptuously. "Actually, we're done here." He made motions to leave.

Jim bristled. He was in no mood to have these two jerk him around. "If you have a problem, Pratt, why don't you just spell it out?"

"Fine. Why do you need our case notes?" Pratt said scornfully. "The supercop and his sidekick ought to be able to handle it. Do your own work instead of leeching off of us."

"We didn't ask for this case, and this is standard procedure when a case gets handed off," Jim barked. "You don't like us getting called in? Then do a better job and solve your own murders the first time around."

"You always were an arrogant son of a bitch, Ellison," Pratt growled. Both men were rising to the bait. Blair made a snap decision that this had gone far enough.

"Forget it, Jim," Blair said sharply. He turned his attention to Pratt. "We're doing you the courtesy of talking to you before we started. You can't handle courtesy, that's just fine." He set a card down on the table. "You manage to remember we're on the same team, you give us a call."

"Don't wait by the phone," said Pratt.

"We won't. Jim and I prefer the field to hanging around the office." He was already holding the door open for Jim. "Nice suit, by the way."

He got Jim about five steps down the hall before his irate partner started to turn back. Blair stepped in front of him and invaded his personal space. "No mayhem, Jim. Just keep walking."

Jim continued to protest as he went. "You do not withhold information during an investigation," Jim said hotly. "It. Is. Not. Done." He tried to step around his partner. "I'm gonna wring his neck."

"You're overreacting, Jim. Let it go." Blair was relieved they had made it as far as the foyer.

"Overreacting? How can you say let it go, when..."

Blair interrupted him without missing a beat. "Because you were over the top as soon as he made the supercop crack. Now trust me and just keep walking." He let Jim simmer for a moment. Only problem was he wasn't moving. "Jim, I'll drag you, if I have to. That ought to be great for a humor moment." Jim relented, and they made it as far as the steps in front of the precinct before a voice called them back.

"Detectives?" It was Nick West. "I'd like to apologize for my partner." He handed a fat file to Blair. "I didn't make a copy, so if you could take care of that for me, I'd be grateful. I just phoned in the request on the forensics evidence. They - uh - didn't have a record of anything earlier. I asked them to put a rush on it. If it's not on your desk by afternoon, call me."

Jim was silent. "Thanks, man," Blair said sincerely. "It will save us a boatload of time."

West took a deep breath. "Well, like I said, I'm sorry. My partner obviously has other issues going on here I didn't know about. There's only one other thing you really need to know. The forensics report says shooting from close range, but we almost called it a suicide. We only caught the mistake because there were no powder residues on the victim's hands. Someone came a hair's breadth from getting away with murder." He turned and went back into the precinct.

"So what do we do with that little bombshell, Jim?" Blair asked as they climbed back in the truck.

"Beats me. It confuses things. There was no attempt at concealment in any of the other cases."

"So maybe it's not connected?"

"Sandburg, we don't have a clue if any of them are connected." Blair watched his expression darken. Jim was thinking a lot more than he was saying.

"I'm pretty good at Jim-speak," Blair said abruptly. "Quit stewing over Pratt."

"Now there's a one-eighty," Jim said with disgust. "Who says I'm stewing?"

"Jimmm. Don't even try that with me. People think stupid things and do stupid things. It's Pratt's problem, not ours."

"It's our problem when it interferes with the investigation." Jim looked like he was about to jump out of the truck and go headhunting again.

"Come on, Jim," Blair said, trying to coax his partner out of immediate intervention. "If you really think it's warranted after you calm down, we can have Simon file a complaint with their captain." He let Jim think about that. "We can decide later, okay. For now let's just be grateful that West played it straight. After all, he's the junior partner, and he stuck his neck out for us."

"I'll concede that. Check the file. I think Hsu was murdered at his office. We can start there."

Blair dug through the file and got the numbers they needed. A few calls and they were on their way to Tyler Hsu's office. A young woman met them at the door and introduced herself as Terry Freeman. The rooms were sparsely furnished but packed with expensive computer equipment. She grabbed a couple of chairs for them.

"Sorry for the mess. When the police cleared it, I moved the stuff we needed out of - out of the room where it happened." She struggled to keep her voice level. "I can't go in there anymore. What can I tell you, Detectives?"

"Why don't you start just by telling us about Mr. Hsu," Blair said gently.

"Tyler was a great boss. We worked crazy hours, but he always put his employees first. I rode the roller coaster with him for almost five years and don't regret a minute of it."

"What do you mean, rollercoaster?" asked Jim.

"Oh, the business. I guess you wouldn't know our history. We had our IPO three years ago. Tyler had great software applications. At our peak we had a payroll of thirty and were using this whole building. We got mangled when all the tech stocks took a dive. That's the really sad part. Tyler wasn't the kind of guy to just cash in his stock and run like a lot of people. When we had to downsize, he made sure his people had severance even if it made cash flow tougher. He contacted stockholders personally whenever he could, worked like a dog. We'd turned the corner and were in the black last quarter." She looked away with a wistful look on her face. "We were going to make it."

"Were there investors who lost money?" Blair said.

"The stock value dropped dramatically, but we've recovered to about seventy-five percent of the original value. It's not worthless, if that's what you mean, and we have plenty of sales to continue future growth. If someone sold at the bottom, well, yeah, they would have taken it in the teeth. That's what I meant. Tyler did his best to let his investors know it wasn't all empty promises, and he was right."

"Did he have any personal debts that you know of?" Jim said.

"You mean like loan sharks he couldn't pay? Someone who would hurt him? I don't think so, but I don't really know how I would check." She shook her head. "Tyler was a straight arrow. That doesn't sound like him."

"Could we check through his bank records?"

"His checkbook is still in the other room. I can get the account numbers before you go."

"Can you tell us what happens to the business now?" Blair asked.

"Tyler had a buyout offer from a larger company. He might not have accepted it had he lived, but under the circumstances, that's what will happen. I'm keeping things running until all the legalities get taken care of. When it's announced, it should give the stock a bump. Is that important?"

"It could be a motive. We just don't know," Blair said honestly. "Could you give us a list of employees and investors that might have carried a grudge?"

"I suppose I should check with the lawyers. Could you let me make some calls? I know Tyler would want to cooperate. I think I can convince them to dig out what you want."

"We'd really appreciate that, Ms. Freeman," said Jim. "We'll be in touch."

When they were alone, Blair scribbled as Jim dictated. "Check the bank records. Contact the company that's making the buyout. Maybe someone is willing to kill to ensure the deal goes through. Run the list of employees."

"Stockholder list," added Blair, still writing. "This is getting worse instead of better."

&&&&

Joel Taggart admired the comfortable room around him. For a man in deep grieving for his wife, Dr. Anton Bryant had been more than gracious. He gratefully accepted a cup of perfectly brewed coffee, and complimented his host.

"The last of Marian's special grind, I'm afraid. I have no idea where she bought it, or what's in it. She's been gone almost a month and it's the little things you miss the most."

"I'm sorry I didn't come by earlier."

"You sent your condolences, Joel. I know how busy they keep you down at the police department." Dr. Bryant gazed around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "Everything in here was something Marian selected or designed. I miss her so." He returned his attention to Joel. "I was relieved to hear that you'd been assigned to her case. I was under the impression they had given up."

"I don't want to raise your hopes, Anton. As I said, Marian's case has been reassigned for further investigation, along with a group of other recent murders. I'm just assisting the primary investigators."

"What can I tell you that hasn't already been said? No one can think of a single reason why Marian was killed. There was nothing stolen, she had no enemies. It's inexplicable."

"Tell me more about her daily routine. We're not sure how these murder cases may be connected. I know she sang."

"That's right. You were at the Easter concert last year at First A.M.E. She had choir twice a week, and Sunday was always busy. She volunteered time for charity. Since Carri and Alan went to college, she's been concentrating on her art. She was donating the proceeds from any sales to her charities. After all those years of earning the income when the children were young and I was still in med school, I was thrilled. She did special decorating jobs on contract. Marian just loved going around and finding fabrics and antiques for her clients. Doesn't sound like much of a motive for murder."

"No, it doesn't. I'm so sorry, Anton. We really don't know what we're looking for. Did she keep a list of people she met, or did business with? That's one of the areas we're concentrating on right now."

"Yes. She kept all the business contacts on her computer. I can print them off for you. Come into the study." He escorted Joel down the hallway. "I haven't come in here for weeks. This was the last project she did."

He gestured to an elaborate cherry sideboard, some chairs and a beautiful inlaid table. "She found this at an auction, maybe an estate sale - I'm not sure. I admit I didn't always pay attention. She was supposed to be shopping for a client and fell in love with it. Before I knew it Carri got the old stuff, and this moved in. She said someone in her childhood had furnishings just liked this."

"It's lovely."

"It had some fancy pedigree, or provenance, or some such nonsense with it, but in reality, my Marian didn't care. She bought it out of pure sentiment. It was like watching a kid do the Christmas tree." He tapped a few keys and the printer came to life.

"I'm sorry to have to ask, but she was killed here, wasn't she?"

"Yes, just outside in the hallway. The police thought her attacker confronted her in here. There were some things overturned. She must have almost gotten away. If I'd been here a few minutes earlier..." His composure broke momentarily at the thought.

"Don't do that, Anton. It wasn't your fault."

"He must have heard the car. When I came through the front door he nearly caved my skull in from behind. When I came to, I..." He swallowed hard. "I tried to save her. It wasn't enough; it had been too long. I failed her."

Joel moved to stand near, providing what comfort he could. Only the chattering of the printer broke the silence.

&&&&

First Savings of Washington was downtown, close to the PD. It made sense to try to squeeze it in before meeting Joel. Blair was reading from the file as Jim negotiated his way through traffic. "Brent Collings. Early forties, been the manager at this branch for three years. He specialized in business loans. Shot getting into his car after work. Witnesses heard the shot, but didn't see the shooter."

"Shotgun, wasn't it?"

"Yes, which means he had to be close." Blair looked up from the file. "These are really angry murders."

"I'd agree. Close range also means the shooter was standing right in the parking lot. Someone should have seen him."

"Maybe," Blair said. "The report says it was close to dusk and raining. You know Cascade. When the mist sets in, you could hide an elephant a yard away and not know it. Well, present company excluded." Blair snapped the folder shut. "It's basically the same song, second verse. No motive and no clue."

"So we do what we have been doing. Throw the net and see what comes back. Hope for a miracle."

"Auugh. I think we have a long afternoon ahead looking for the needle in the haystack. Have any thoughts on what we should ask for?"

"Let see," said Jim. "What about a bank would tick you off enough to murder? Turn down a loan, foreclose on one, make you wait in line until you grow old. What else?"

"Don't they renegotiate big business loans sometimes, when conditions change? Like Tyler Hsu. Wouldn't someone like him come in when things were bad and renegotiate some terms; try to buy some time?"

"Good thought. I don't think we're going to get by with a client list on this one. We need to know the nature of the transactions."

"I think the issue is going to be what they will give us. Be nice, Jim. Honey's sweeter, and all that."

"I designate you Mr. Sweetness and Light. Let's go."

As Blair had predicted, it was slow going. The bank wasn't willing to give them carte blanche, and they didn't have enough information to make a specific request. Collings' executive assistant did her best.

"So you don't remember him mentioning any particularly difficult clients?"

"I'm sorry, Detective Ellison. No one sticks out as being especially hostile. A lot of people are unhappy when they don't get what they want. Other than the foreclosures, I don't know what to tell you."

"You kept his appointment book?"

"Yes, and answered most of his calls."

"Maybe you could look back and see if any one person called repetitively and didn't get what they wanted. If something jogs your memory, call us."

"I'll do that, Detective. I'll work on it during my lunches if I have to. At least you're asking different questions than the first officers that came by." The two detectives exchanged looks as they walked out. So far, the previous efforts from the Cascade Police Department were nothing to shout about.

"Well, that felt like a total waste of time," Jim said as they walked out. "Let's go find Joel. Maybe he had better luck."

"Head back on your own. I'll walk and get us some take out for lunch."

"I had hoped you'd forget that and let me handle lunch," Jim said, unlocking the truck. "Do we have to do green?" he called across the parking lot.

"If I make it a taco salad will you quit whining?" Blair said, walking backwards and grinning.

"If I get guacamole, I can live with it. And shredded beef." Jim stood on the doorframe and looked over the cab to keep his partner in sight. "Sandburg, you'd better get the good stuff!"

Blair just laughed and dodged across the street.

&&&&

Joel was set up in the conference room, meticulously laying out the reams of information he'd gleaned through the morning. He was rapidly covering every available surface. Jim joined him, carrying his own burden of information.

Jim noticed that his friend seemed very subdued. It didn't make sense. It looked to him as though Joel had accomplished a lot more than they had. "Looking kind of down there, Joel," Jim said. "Everything okay?"

"I was just thinking about Marian Bryant. They're all tragic, but Marian and Anton didn't deserve this. She was a good person, talented, devoted to her family and community. He adored her."

"Maybe Blair and I should have taken that one." Joel was so even-tempered. It was unusual to see him so down.

"No. It was easier for Anton to have me take care of it. The homicide detectives did a good job, but I filled in a few blanks."

"He's the doctor, right?" Jim asked. "Did she work?"

"Full-time up until a few years ago. Since their children went to college, she's done freelance stuff. She was an artist, and did decorating projects out of the home. I followed your lead and got her business contacts."

"Shit. A decorator and a dotcom. No way do these fit together." Jim gestured to the sea of paper around them. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Maybe Sandburg will have one of those weird strokes of genius."

Jim stared solemnly at the table. "This would be beyond weird, even for Sandburg." He added a few more items to the collection. "He's buying lunch, by the way. I lobbied for us, big guy, but I think we're getting chicken without anything fun on it. I swear, if it's nothing but lettuce and some fat free ranch dressing, I'm ordering a pizza as soon as he turns his back."

&&&&

The car was hidden. Stashed at the back of the filling station it would be safe. The twenty bucks for the weasel attendant hurt, but it was better than losing the car.

He was cold and wet. It had been a long walk back to the room in the rain. He tapped the thermostat. It never seemed to heat no matter what temperature it was set on. He'd do just as well to rip it off the wall.

He toed off his shoes and peeled away his damp socks. It was time to wash out some clothes in the sink, and he was dreading it. It was too damn cold in here for anything to hang dry properly. Maybe after he ate.

The loaf of bread banged off the wall as he hurled it away. Molded! Nothing to eat except a few scrapings of peanut butter. He was not eating sandwiches made out of moldy bread.

He leaned against the table, breathing hard. It wasn't fair. He wasn't the kind of man to be rinsing his own damn laundry. They were living in comfort and he was in Hell. It wasn't his fault. Other people deserved the blame for this misery.

He grabbed the tattered phone book and began flipping toward the back of the directory nearly tearing the pages as he turned.

&&&&

Blair juggled his bags as he left the elevator. Three salads and drinks were an armful. He could hear Jim's voice coming from the conference room, and Joel's low chuckle. Hopefully they could enjoy their lunch before tackling the case again.

"Hey, guys. Taco salads, as requested." He handed the bags to Jim. "Would you take these to the break room? I bought Rhonda a smoothie. She's crazy about them. Be right back."

They waited until Blair was safely down the hall. "Check quick," Joel whispered. "How bad is it?"

Jim opened the bag and pretended to look around. His nose was all he really needed. "All right! We've got shredded beef, real dressing and guacamole. Rats. I think we lost out on the extra cheese."

"Ah," sighed Joel. "We may train that boy right after all."

&&&&

"Hey, Rhonda," Blair said brightly. "I'm glad I caught you before you went to lunch! I brought you a smoothie - your favorite - pineapple and orange. Do you want it now or shall I put it in the fridge?"

"Uh, maybe just put it in the fridge," said Rhonda, her voice tight and strained.

"Rhonda? Hey, what's going on?" Blair watched in shock as her expression melted into tears. "What's the matter? Settle down and tell me." He handed her a tissue.

Rhonda sniffed a few times, composed herself, and the words started pouring out. "Oh, look at Rhonda the wimp. It's just been a really lousy morning. The computer ate some files that Simon needs, and my backup disc won't load, and he can't find his, and now I have to type it over, and the Deputy Commissioner yelled at me..."

"Whoa, back up a minute. "What do you mean, he yelled at you?"

"Well, he was really yelling at Captain Banks, but since Simon wasn't here, I was convenient. You know how it is."

"Why is he steamed at Simon?" Blair asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure, exactly." He voice trailed off hesitantly.

"Okay, so we'll let that go. Did you call Tech Services about the computer?"

"Yes, and they can't come till next Monday. The budget is due Friday."

"The budget? Not that horrible thing with all the forms?"

"The same. Now you know why I'm crying," she said, trying to laugh it off.

"I don't blame you a bit!" Blair said emphatically. "Did you try to do data retrieval on the hard drive?"

She shook her head. "I can't do that stuff, Blair. I just have to do it over."

"That settles it. Go tell Jim and Joel they're own their own for a bit, and I'll see what I can do."

"You don't have to do that. I know you're busy, and you got that hideous multiple murder thing, and I'm a big girl."

"Rhonda," Blair said firmly, "Follow directions." He grabbed the cup he'd come in with. "Go drink your smoothie on the way. You'll feel better."

"Thanks, Blair. I'll be right back." She took a sip. "I feel better already."

Blair was already at the computer. "If I'd known it was a crisis, I would have hauled out the big guns and gotten chocolate."

Joel was divvying up the dressing and napkins when she arrived. "Jim, Blair says the two of you should start lunch without him."

Jim could smell the salt of her tears, and was mildly shocked. Rhonda was usually unflappable. Something was up. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"You, too, huh? I must look like a basket case. I've just lost some stuff on the computer, and tech services can't come. Blair's gone fishing for it."

"Is Simon in? I think we need to review the case with him."

"No, he's - out." That was as far as she got before her voice cracked, and both men looked at her with shocked expressions. "I'm sorry, guys. Simon's had a really bad day and I got caught in the middle. Simon bellows sometimes, but he doesn't really mean it. When other people do, I don't take it so well." She paused. "How about if I tell Simon you need him as soon as he comes back?"

"Sure," Jim said. He sensed that Rhonda wasn't telling him the whole story. Joel looked like he was on the same wavelength. "Tell Sandburg to take his time. Why don't you take his lunch to him? Sandburg's eaten some of his best meals in front of a computer screen."

"No doubt," she said, a smile finally creeping across her face. "He's usually doing your paperwork. Happy eating, guys."

Jim waited until he knew she was out of earshot. "Okay, Joel, who's yelling?"

"If I were going to guess? Not someone from the departments; it's an unwritten rule. You can yell at each other, but not at the secretaries. We need them too much, and they're innocent victims, besides. That leaves the Mayor's office or the Chief."

"Or The Deputy Chief," Jim said, already on his feet. "Damn this case to hell. No one in their right mind would be demanding results on multiple murders within twenty four hours."

"Don't jump to conclusions," Joel protested. "It could be something else altogether."

"You don't believe that, and neither do I." Jim was furious.

"Jim, calm down. Eat your lunch. We'll talk to Simon and get things straightened out. People expect instant results, and we've all been there. It's nothing new. Part of Simon's job is to strike a balance between getting the best out of his department and deflecting unreasonable requests."

"What's unreasonable when you're the superhero?" Jim blurted out angrily.

He could have eaten the words as soon as he said them.

Joel calmly got up and closed the door. "Sit down, Jim. We need to talk."

&&&&

"Here's your salad," Rhonda said, settling the container by Blair's elbow. She sat down and watched the screen. "I've never understood this stuff. Are you having any luck?"

"I think so, but I'm glad you're back. I ran a virus check while you were gone. Something nasty must have snuck through, and that's what has your files messed up." He concentrated on the keyboard for a moment. "There. We need to let that run." He opened the container and began to munch contentedly on his salad. "So tell me, who upset the only sane person in Major Crime, and why?"

"Blair, I shouldn't have said that. It was indiscreet."

"We're with the police. We live for indiscreet." Rhonda looked down at her smoothie, stirring it with the straw. "I can make a pretty good guess. Someone wanted to know who we've arrested for the murder cases, as if we just go down and order suspects out of the catalog."

"Blair..."

"Relax. You didn't spill the beans on that one. Jim's been on the warpath ever since we got this case because he thinks expecting miracles is unjustified." He studied the computer screen again. "Good, that ran." He turned his attention to the keyboard, but kept talking. "What I didn't know is that Simon is yelling back."

"He was pretty upset. Anyone who was around this morning knows that."

Blair pointed at the screen. "Does this look like a piece of the file you're missing?"

"Oh, yeah! How much do you have?" she jumped out of the chair and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, Blair, if you can even get part of it back, it will save me hours."

"Well, I think I know what's wrong, and we can probably piece stuff together. Let me tell my two buds to carry on and I'll be right back."

He headed for the break room, carrying his salad and eating as he went. He was a bit surprised to find the door of the break room shut. He knocked softly and peeked around the door. "Am I interrupting?" He took one look at Jim's face and came in, shutting the door behind him. "Do we need a referee, or will I do?"

&&&&

Serena Chang was used to being under pressure, but this was really a bit much. Detectives whined about slow results as a regular routine. Captains called on the phone, they complained, they pleaded. Sometimes, if things were really bad, they yelled. They did not bring their towering selves into her lab and review evidence piece by piece.

"Captain Banks, maybe you could tell me if there's something specific you're looking for, I could be of more help."

"Yes, I am looking for something specific," he said sarcastically. "I want you to tell me - specifically - what is supposed to be here and isn't."

"Well, we were missing some things from Silver Lakes." She checked her notes. "A Detective West faxed most of it over this morning. He apologized, by the way. The two county cases have been sent. I double checked on those. They should arrive this afternoon. Everything else I can recover from my records, because the investigations originated from here, or the investigating officers sent it here for further evaluation already."

"So it's fair to say that the requests for case files were not filled in a timely manner?"

"Some were, some weren't, Captain Banks."

He looked at her sharply. "Do Sandburg and Ellison have everything they need now, with the exception of the cases from the county?"

"In terms of evidence, I would say so," she answered carefully. "I can't say whether the other parts of the files are complete."

That answer did not please the glowering man in front of her. It was small comfort that she wasn't the source of the problem.

"Have you finished reviewing the evidence?" he asked.

"Superficially, yes. I'll be working on it this afternoon, and you have my word that it won't sit in this office one minute longer than it has to."

"Let me know how you progress, and I want to be informed if there are any further delays, from any quarter. Is that understood?"

"Absolutely, sir." She breathed a sigh of relief when he stalked out and the door shut behind him.

&&&&

"We don't need a referee, Chief," Jim said. "We were just having a frank exchange of opinions."

"Right." Blair looked skeptically from one man to the other. Joel seemed calm as ever, but Jim wasn't. "It's going to take at least another hour or two to finish with Rhonda. It's a real mess, and I hate to not give her a hand. Can you guys do some more leg work until three or so? I'll be done by then, and we can start working through what we've got."

"Sure. We can make contact on a few more victims," Jim said. Maybe a little too quickly. Jim had something up his sleeve.

"Maybe you could go in Joel's car, and leave me the truck, just in case I need transportation." He turned slightly so Joel couldn't see his face. "Don't fight me on this," he added, just loud enough for Jim to hear. "After yesterday, you're not going solo, and I trust you with Joel."

"We could cover more ground if we interview separately," Jim said evenly.

"It's only a couple of hours," said Joel. "It won't make that much difference."

Blair held out his hand, sensing that he'd won this round with his stubborn sentinel. Nevertheless, he was relieved when Jim dug the keys out of his pocket with no further protest.

"Let's play nice and try to color inside the lines while I'm away." Blair tossed the keys in the air and caught them. By the time he'd shoved them in his pocket, he was out the door, closing it behind him.

"Jim, since when do you give Sandburg the keys to your truck without putting up a fight? Not to mention our - what did you call it? Our frank exchange of opinions?" If Joel was going to weather Hurricane Ellison, he wanted to know where he stood going in.

Jim's face reflected no emotion when he answered. "A - we've finished our frank exchange of opinions. Subject closed. B - if you must know, in this instance, I'm glad to leave Sandburg behind. We were supposed to visit the crime scene for Kim Hermann."

Joel gave him a questioning look. "That wouldn't be the drowning, would it?" Jim shrugged, looking down at his half-eaten salad. Joel didn't inquire any further. "Good call, Jim. On this point, we're in complete agreement. Let's finish up and get over there."

They settled into Joel's Lexus for the trip. The poor man had taken plenty of ribbing when he'd driven it out of the showroom six months earlier, but he'd taken it with his usual good grace. Everyone knew that a comfortable car was one of the few luxuries Joel Taggert indulged in.

"I don't think I've actually ridden in this since you bought it," Jim commented. His hand stroked the leather seat. "It really is nice."

"I hate to tell you, Jim, but that truck you drive has seen better days. You should move up."

"Hey, I've owned better, but it does the job. Besides, it's cheap."

Joel chuckled. If Jim wanted to talk cars, that was fine. In fact, it was a step up from riding in silence or continuing their earlier conversation. "You're not exactly saving to put the kids through school. You can afford to splurge."

"Maybe for the sticker price, but the insurance just makes me crazy. The truck is the lesser of evils."

"Did I hear right? Did Sandburg's Volvo really die?"

"Sandburg and that heap," said Jim, shaking his head. "The engine block cracked, and it needed a new transmission anyway. He's been fighting it, but it's been reduced to the level of scrap."

"So he really is car shopping?" Joel asked.

"If you can call it that," Jim answered. "It's disgusting. Sandburg turns everything into a science experiment."

Joel laughed again. "Just how does he do that?"

Jim looked skyward in despair. "He goes to the dealerships and picks up brochures. The loft is full of brochures. Anyone knows you don't cruise car lots waiting for the salespeople to get their hooks in you. You go when you're ready to buy. Not Sandburg. First the brochures, then he's on the internet. He goes through the manufacturers' websites. He spent a whole day looking at interiors in different colors. Then he's on CarPoint, and eBay, and God knows where else, getting comparisons. Oh, and I forgot, Consumer Reports. Sandburg must be a founding member of Consumer Reports. Who in the world buys a car that way?"

"Jim?" Joel said gently, "I did my research for this car on Carpoint, and Consumer Reports. I even got bids from different dealerships on line."

"You're kidding." Jim watched as Joel slowly shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. "You're not kidding?"

"Jim, it's the new millennium. It's just being a savvy consumer to use the resources available."

"Nooo," he said. "This can't be true. You go to the dealership and you buy the car, preferably a Ford, preferably blue. This isn't just the Sandburg zone? Don't tell me normal people actually go through this shit."

"Jim, everybody buys a car that way. You're being old-fashioned.

Jim's face was completely blank. Finally, he leaned his head back and shut his eyes. "I don't believe this," he said. "I'm surrounded."

&&&&

Simon Banks stormed past the elevator and headed for the stairs. Expending some energy might be the only way he could keep from raining bodily harm down on a few selected members of the Cascade PD, his own superiors included. By the time he'd reached the third flight, he'd calmed down enough to remember his own role in this fiasco. He halted on the landing between the fourth and fifth floor, and leaned back against the cool cinderblock. Nothing concerning Deputy Chief Martinson had happened that he, Simon Banks, Captain of Major Crime, hadn't allowed to happen.

How many times would he have this same internal debate? He'd never considered the 'after' for Sandburg's leaked dissertation. He'd been so pleased with himself - it was the coup of the century to get Sandburg into Major Crime with only having the Chief of Police included in the decision. It seemed perfect. Ellison was officially not a sentinel, Sandburg was officially upgraded from observer to police officer and partner, the administration would officially not notice, and no one within in Major Crime was going to spill the beans.

And then came the unanticipated 'after'.

When officers outside of Major Crime sat down over a beer, they grumbled about the so-called fraud in their midst, but a few remembered how it didn't jive with the smart, earnest young man they had seen. They remembered how not a soul in Major Crime protested. If anything Major Crime had closed ranks to embrace the pair after all the uproar. They remembered how Ellison always found scraps of evidence that other teams missed. They remembered the solve rate. They remembered the unlikely match of a lone-wolf detective with a grad student, who had no business being there in the first place, much less for years at a time. A few remembered Tommy Juno's hearing, and what Jim had claimed to see. They remembered how Ellison seemed to anticipate disaster a bit sooner than everyone else. Little things, ignored in isolation, formed a pattern. Throughout the Cascade Police Department, from the newest uniform to the upper echelons, a quiet consensus was gradually reached.

So the kid hadn't lied, at least not about all of it. Which parts were true, and to what extent? Well, now that was the real question of interest. A new, very subtle, very insidious, parlor game was born, and Simon, much to his dismay, hadn't been prepared.

He hadn't realized how hard it would be to perpetuate the denial. He hadn't expected to hesitate when someone jokingly remarked about Ellison listening through walls, or identifying suspects at a distance. His own wonder at the complex miracle that Ellison and Sandburg represented stilled his tongue. He didn't want to deny them. In his silence, others accepted his apparent acquiescence, and drew their own conclusions. When special assignments became tougher, he accepted them, because he knew Ellison and Sandburg were the best. He accepted without protest, and with just a little vanity, because he believed in them, and they were his men, and damned if they didn't deliver. When things began to spiral out of control, his earlier silence made it difficult to protest. The growing superhero myth had him caught between two opposing forces; those who resented and obstructed a colleague with an edge, and those who unscrupulously wished to exploit it.

He realized now that from the beginning, he, Sandburg, and Ellison had established a network of mutual protection and benefit. With the exception of a few spectacular breakdowns, it had functioned well for all three. Now, for the first time in their complicated triangle, Simon was keenly aware that, through his own doing, the umbrella of protection was breaking down. His men were suffering, and it was his responsibility to set it right.

He'd give them a few more days and dump the thing back in Deputy Chief Martinson's lap, results or no. When he did, no matter what the cost to his own standing, he was going to make it clear that Ellison and Sandburg's days as bird dogs were over.

Simon climbed the remainder of the stairs with deliberate slowness, already mapping his strategy.

&&&&

Joel pulled to a stop in front of Kim Hermann's neatly landscaped home. He was reading from the incident report forwarded from the county deputies. They planned to recheck every notation, starting with each door and window on the first floor. Jim soon discovered that one of the back doors popped open easily, even though it appeared to be securely locked.

"Based on no evidence of forced entry, county speculated that she knew her attacker and let him in," Joel said. "With that door the way it is, you could argue either way."

"Someone could have easily come in that door and waited for her. She may have known her attacker, or maybe not. I'm thinking we should look around the house, assuming that he was in there waiting for her." They stood just inside the front door and examined the layout. Jim moved from place to place, considering all the angles. "If she drove into the garage and came in, he wouldn't wait in either the kitchen or living area. There's a lot of visibility from the street. Let's check the rest of this floor."

They ruled out every room except the home office as a likely place for an assailant to wait. "Marian's attacker confronted her in their first floor den," Joel commented softly.

Jim was standing near the doorway. "This room is pretty central. From here he could monitor both the front door and the door from the garage. It's not visible from the street, so he could stay here for awhile and no one would be the wiser. Let's see if we can find any indication that someone was here other than our victim."

For a workspace, the room was unusually neat. Other than a pile of folders sitting on the writing area, nothing seemed out of order. They were almost ready to move to another area when Jim had an inspiration. He hit speed dial on his cell phone and waited impatiently.

"Detective Sandburg."

"Hey, Chief. Tell me something. When we were at the real estate office, do you remember forming any impression of Kim Hermann's desk?"

"Now that you ask, I remember thinking the two of you must be first cousins. The lady was meticulous. In fact, one of the secretaries said they teased her about it all the time. She never left the office without straightening up and filing everything away. Why?"

"Just a wild guess. Would you talk to Serena and ask her to send a technician out? I've got a room and a stack of files I want dusted for prints."

"Will do. Are you guys going to be there for awhile?"

"Yeah. If they send someone right away, I can explain what I want. How's the computer salvage going?" Jim said with a grin.

"You untangle your mess, I'll untangle mine. Stay out of trouble."

The connection was broken. Blair was obviously still in the midst. "He's still working," Jim told Joel. "Let's check outside."

The back yard was fenced, surrounded by plantings of evergreens, and very private. A small brick patio led to a brick path, which led in turn to the garden pond, a gazebo, some benches and a garden. The plants bordering the pond were crushed and trampled where Kim Hermann had been shoved under the surface of the water.

"The report says they concluded she put up a struggle." Joel said, reading from the file. "Several planters were knocked over when they got here."

"Does it say anything about her shoes?"

"Let me look." Joel paged through the file. "Says there were traces of brick dust on the soles, and caked along the heel."

Jim studied the pathway. "She was dragged part of the way," he said. "See the scrape marks on the brick here, and over there?"

Joel nodded. There was no point in mentioning that he could barely see the marks, and certainly wouldn't have noticed them. He waited quietly while Jim circled the pond, checked the trampled vegetation, and worked his way back toward the patio. He wondered absently what Blair did during these Ellison prowls. He'd have to ask sometime. Jim suddenly went to his knees, lowering his face almost to the ground.

"I need some tweezers, or gloves," he said.

Joel had some gloves and held an evidence bag at the ready. Jim was struggling to work his hands into a planting of ornamental roses and other flowers.

"Ouch! Damn things have thorns like razors." Wincing as he eased his hand out, he held up a small book of matches. "Look around, Joel. You see any sign of a barbecue grill or anything like that? Something that would be lit with a match?"

Joel scanned the area. "Not a thing. Kim Hermann didn't smoke, either." He closed the evidence bag. "Maybe we just got out first break."

&&&&

"Oh, fabulous! The overtime summaries," Rhonda said gleefully. "That little piece is worth a couple of hours work all by itself. Now I won't have to go back to the original paperwork to reconstruct it." She had Blair's laptop open, and the two of them were transferring information file by file as he recovered it.

Blair sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm not sure there's much more I can get. I went for the big stuff first. Everything else looks pretty fragmented. How are we doing?"

Rhonda's trained eyes scrolled through the pages of text and tables. "We've got at least three-fourths of it. I can start filling in the rest." She checked the clock.

"Can you finish today? Without staying late?" Blair asked.

"I think so. I'm going to save this to ten backup disks when I finish."

Blair laughed. "You do that, and it will never happen again. It's Murphy's Law. You only get viruses when the backup files get messed up." He was turning to walk away when he bumped into Simon, who had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Simon! Sorry - I didn't hear you," Blair sputtered.

"Are you accusing me of sneaking, Detective?"

Rhonda giggled. "No, Captain. We're just used to you coming in a little louder." She lowered her voice and mimicked her boss, "My office! Now!"

"I'm glad you find this so amusing." He was trying for stern, but he couldn't quite stifle his own smile. "What about the report?"

"Blair's been helping me recover it. I think I'll have the whole thing redone by the end of the day."

Simon's attitude softened. He knew Rhonda had been distraught over the damaged and missing backup disks, not to mention that losing one of the backups had been his fault. He looked at Sandburg and said, "So you do have a reason for being here, other than goofing off. Where's your other half?"

Blair brushed off his sarcasm. "He and Joel went to review a crime scene. They'll be back soon. They called about thirty, maybe forty minutes ago to ask for a forensics tech."

Simon thought grimly about his morning. It had been a shock to realize how little cooperation his detectives were getting, and he'd spent the majority of the day getting to the bottom of it.

"Something wrong, Simon?"

Simon realized he'd been drifting. He started at Blair's question, and guessed that Sandburg, with his usual intuition, was aware that something was amiss. That was a topic Simon didn't intend to discuss, at least not just yet. He had more work to do on his end before he broached that conversation.

"Nothing for you to worry about, Sandburg. You might check with Serena, and I'll plan on seeing you, Jim and Joel before you knock off for the evening." With that, he disappeared into his office and shut the door.

&&&&

Yellow. Yellow again. Finally, a blue. Blair stood and rolled his head in semicircles, hoping to loosen the tight muscles. If Jim and Joel didn't get back soon, he was going to be a seriously unhappy camper. This would be a lot easier if he were searching through one or two lists instead of four - correction, five, counting the information Joel had brought from his other morning interviews. What was her name?

Blair scolded himself. Their victims at least deserved to have their investigator remember their names. He sighed as he mentally resurrected the details. Mary Gilkey, thirty-three, married with one child, C.P.A. and junior partner for one of Cascade's preeminent accounting firms. Killed in a hit and run three weeks ago with no trace on the vehicle. Joel had sweet-talked the firm out of her account list, which they had reluctantly complied with, to a point. Apparently the list he was using only dated back to the first of the current year.

Reluctantly he lowered his head, reviewing his self-devised color coding. Yellow - found on two lists. Blue - found on three lists. So far, he had no greens, which would represent the same name in contact with four of the victims. A purple would be a home run and would be a name in common with five of the six victims they had reviewed and investigated thus far. He had a pink marker for a six out of six, but that was too much to hope for. If he picked up the pink they were headed for the champagne.

Brent Collings, the banker was a disaster in this system. Because he supervised nearly every loan that came through the downtown office, along with several of the feeder branches, he was generating yellow hits all over. Considering their frequency, most of them were probably meaningless. Blair left to scrounge a red pen from the ever-suffering Rhonda, and retraced his work, meticulously marking every Collings yellow with a red X. It meant essentially starting over from scratch. He resented the time, and cursed himself for not noticing the problem sooner. Unfortunately, it had to be done. They could never concentrate on the potentially more meaningful cross-references unless he distinguished them.

&&&&

Joel pulled to a stop half a block down from The Oasis Club, which bore no resemblance to an oasis whatsoever. This was a sorry part of town, to be sure. Weeds poked through cracks in the sidewalk. Many of the buildings featured boarded up windows and doors. Nearby apartments were no doubt filled with the destitute, the broken, and the hopeless. After a few minutes of observing the sparse foot traffic, he finally asked, "You want to go in, Jim?"

Jim looked at his own clothes, then at Joel's suit and tie, and shook his head. "If we could blend in a bit, I might say 'yes'. Neither one of us could be passed off as accidental visitors." He fingered the book of matches, safe in its see-through evidence bag. "I'll come back down tomorrow in less obtrusive clothes, or better yet, get Sandburg to do it. If I hide his razor for just tomorrow morning he'll have enough growth on his chin to look like he's been on the street for a week."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that," Joel said with a chuckle. "Are you sure we can afford not to do it now? At least to check that the matches actually come from this joint?"

"Nope," Jim said firmly. "We could run right in to our killer, and not even have a clue, but he sure might get wind that we're looking and getting close. Better to leave well enough alone. Besides, I'll come down in the truck." He patted the dash. "If we leave this beauty parked while we're poking around, it will probably end up minus the wheels, the CD player and who knows what else? Let's head back and see if Sandburg's done something useful."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Joel said with a smile, pulling smoothly into traffic.

&&&&

Blair looked thoroughly frazzled when the two men joined him. He explained what he was doing, and how most of his initial work needed to be redone. "I just got finished," he said with a totally disgusted tone. "I can't believe I didn't catch it sooner."

"At least you came up with a system to analyze it in the first place," Jim said, hoping to console his frustrated partner. Dealing with volumes of seemingly unconnected data was a Sandburg specialty. Simon may have been joking, but Blair actually was the only scientist among them, and sometimes it showed. "You're right, it will go faster if you don't have to run all over the room searching for names."

"It's not like these things are all neat and alphabetized," Joel said, gesturing toward the table. "We'll split it up. You can call a name off the Collings list, and let the two of us do the searching for awhile."

"I'm not going to turn you down," Blair said, fatigue tingeing his voice. "I'll go find some more markers and red pens.

&&&&

It was nearly six before Simon made any attempt to track down his three detectives. He'd gone so far as to route all their calls through Rhonda's phone, even though they were in the building. He's already turned down two requests from Deputy Chief Martinson for a briefing. He wasn't about to let the impatient man do an end run and go to his beleaguered staff directly. Rhonda had just delivered the reconstructed budget file, and was headed home. He needed to let his men know that their communications blackout was leaving with her.

The scene in the conference room was almost beyond his comprehension. He gestured to the mounds of paperwork. "If I'd known, I would have gotten you men crayons and coloring books. Someone want to tell me how this connects to your investigation?" He felt a headache coming on as Sandburg explained what they had done, which contacts looked promising, and how they hoped to integrate information from two more victims the next day. He finally interrupted and zeroed in on Joel. "Taggart, if you follow this, I know I will - eventually."

"It looks like a mess, Simon, but it's the best chance we have. With no evidence that connects the murders, we have to look elsewhere. It's needle in a haystack time."

"Serena didn't find anything?" he said sharply.

"No, sir," Blair said. "She did say that she had more things to check. Actually, Jim and Joel had the find of the day."

Simon listened with interest as Jim described the discovery of the matchbook. The additional forensics evidence from Kim Hermann's home wouldn't be analyzed until the next day. It looked hopeful. He agreed that a careful survey of the restaurant was in order.

"I want the three of you to go home and relax. This case is a monster, but I don't want you working around the clock."

Blair started to object. "If we have the same person, he might be planning another murder any minute."

Simon waved him off. "And we have no hope of predicting either the identity of the killer or any potential victim. I'm not expecting you to reveal a suspect like a rabbit out of a hat." That phrase snapped Jim's head up to attention. Yes, he would need to speak with his sentinel detective very soon, but not tonight. "Go home. Turn on your caller ID's and screen your calls. If Martinson calls you at home, ignore it and call me." The three detectives stared at him with puzzled expressions. Simon reached over and took a fistful of markers out of Blair's hand. "I'll try again. Go. Home. Now."

&&&&

Jim looked up from the Jags game and frowned. "Sandburg, quit reading those files or - I'll do something drastic."

Blair gave Jim an amused look over the top of his glasses. "Define drastic."

Jim halfheartedly tossed a pillow at his partner on the other end of the couch. "I don't know. Lock you in your room."

"You do realize that time-out was wasted on me as a child. Being sent to my room where the books were fell in the reward category. It drove Naomi nuts, since she didn't believe in spanking." Blair calmly stuffed the pillow behind his head and went back to reading.

"I mean it, Chief. I can't watch the game in peace if you're still reading. Simon told us to take the night off. Quit already."

"I might have missed something. Stop trying to run the world." Blair never looked up.

Jim didn't answer that. He stared at Blair in frustration. Finally, conscious of being watched, Blair looked over the top of his glasses and closed the file. "How about a trade? I'll put the work away if you tell me how it went at the Hermann scene, and what you and Joel - how did you put it? - what the frank exchange of opinions was about."

Jim snorted and shook his head. "There's nothing to tell."

Blair quirked an eyebrow and opened the file again.

"This is blackmail."

"I live to please." Silence. "Did you use your senses at the scene?"

"Yes, and everything was fine. Okay, I had a few spikes in the morning, but the afternoon was fine."

"You had problems after Pratt?" Blair asked, concern flickering across his face.

"Yes, I had problems after Pratt. My hearing kept fluctuating on the drive over to Hsu's office." Blair's frown deepened. "I know, I know, I didn't say anything, but they weren't so bad that I couldn't handle it on my own."

"I would have appreciated the heads-up in case they got worse," Blair said quietly.

"Well, it got better, so maybe you could let me off the hook."

"And Joel?" Blair smiled at his partner. "Sorry, I didn't forget about the 'frank exchange of opinions'. That was part of the deal."

"Oh, all right. We figured that Rhonda got caught in the crossfire between Simon and the Deputy Chief over this case."

"I concluded the same thing. At least Simon kept him off our backs."

"Well, it really jerked my chain, and I lost my temper. I made a crack about superheroes and Joel didn't let it go."

"And?"

"AND - he took me to task. He reminded me that I wasn't the first cop to be considered an exception to the rule, and what that means in terms of expectations. He had some pretty pointed comments, and I deserved them." Jim stared out at the city lights. "Did you know Joel was the first African-American to be assigned to a specialty squad?"

"No, but I'm not surprised, now that you mention it. Guys Joel and Simon's age probably have a lot of firsts. It was a different time."

"They used to send him in to do stuff - stuff that no rookie should handle alone."

"Kind of like getting the impossible cases from hell?" Blair asked knowingly.

"A lot like that," Jim said soberly. "We'll have to ask him for details sometime. The little he said scared the shit out of me. Anyway, he kicked my butt and basically told me to grow up; that I'd take the good with the bad and do it with grace, because I wasn't the first one to walk the road." He shrugged. "I didn't take it well at the time, but I know he's right. I owe him an apology."

"And your senses settled down after that?"

"I guess so. I felt more - in control or something."

"Good." Blair gathered up the folders and set them on the table. Introspection wasn't one of Jim's strong points, but he couldn't see any reason to probe further. Whatever Joel said seemed to have gotten through, and Jim seemed to be better for it. "How about that Jags game, huh?" he said.

Jim didn't go for the remote. He looked back out at the twinkling lights. "I think Joel knows," he said softly.

"Knows? About you being a sentinel?

Jim nodded. "I don't think I was very careful when we were at the crime scene. I'm comfortable with Joel. I just forgot."

"I'm not terribly shocked," Blair said, his tone low and even. "Megan figured it out on her own. We tease him about being a rookie detective after all those years in the bomb squad, but Joel's a very observant man. You don't take bombs apart for a living and not have the ability to analyze. It's not a big stretch for him to put the pieces together. Did he say anything?"

"No."

"Does it bother you?"

"I'm not really sure." He looked at Blair. "Somehow, it doesn't seem like that big a deal. I can't figure out why."

"Maybe because you can count on his discretion, Jim. Do you want to say something to him? Or do you want me to talk with him?"

"No. I think I want to let it go." He tossed the remote Blair's direction. "Pick a show, Chief. I promise not to complain.

&&&&

They arrived at the station early. The bullpen was deserted except for a few stragglers from the night shift. Blair was reading aloud from the case folder. "Victim number seven - Emery Burch. Married, two kids, stabbed in a parking lot around 11:30PM. Had a late dinner with guys from his office, walked back to his car and was knifed in the back. He was a VP at Cascade Timber." Blair looked up from the file. "He's the last one, since we set the other two aside based on income. Do you still think that's the way to go?"

"For now, yes," Jim said. "Doing seven victims simultaneously is putting me on overload. I can't keep anything straight as it is."

"If it's any consolation, I feel the same way. I was hoping a good night's sleep would do the trick."

Jim snickered. "What? You mean you thought you'd dream the solution?"

Blair tossed the file back in Jim's direction. "It sounds as promising as anything else we're doing." They were waiting in the bullpen for Joel to arrive. He could tell Jim was getting antsy. "Tell you what. Go down and talk to Serena. I'll type up a summary and leave it for Simon. That way he'll have some definite information to give out about the investigation." He pushed the power switch on his computer. "Be nice to Serena, Jim. You can bet she wasn't getting any more cooperation than we were."

"Check. Be nice to Serena. I can handle that."

Blair was already concentrating on his work. "When you find the doughnuts, buy me a bagel," he said absently.

"Who said anything about doughnuts?" Jim called over his shoulder. Blair just smiled and never stopped typing.

The regular morning crew drifted in as Blair worked. He managed a brief greeting when Henri Brown arrived, but other than that he lost himself in the story. It was difficult to give their activities any coherence. He was finishing the last paragraph as Simon walked in. Blair printed the document and followed him into his office. "Captain, here's our summary so far. I figured you'd need something to release today."

Simon skimmed through the report. Since Sandburg had prepared it, the checking was mostly a formality. Blair's reports were always thorough, although with his facility with prose, they sometimes sounded more like literature than formal report. It was Ellison you had to watch. When Jim wrote 'subject apprehended in the parking lot', he might conveniently omit that there had been a gun battle and a high speed car chase. "Good job, Sandburg. This will do nicely." He looked his detective up and down. "Since when did this become Miami Vice?"

Blair snickered. "Oh, the shave. Jim wants me to check out that Oasis place today. He thought I could look scruffy enough to fit in."

"That would explain why you're dressed like a hobo for Halloween. I guess you're the best choice, considering the alternatives are Taggart and Ellison."

"I can't imagine Joel doing undercover work," Blair said, smiling broadly.

Simon chuckled outright and threw his glasses on the desk. "Once, when we were just a couple of years on the force, some knucklehead in vice decided he wanted a black guy to make an undercover drug buy, and Joel was the first cop that fit the description he ran into. Joel couldn't even get a word out. The rest of us cracked up first. They would have made him in a second."

"So did he go?" Blair said. Simon didn't speak about his early days on the force very often, and he was enjoying it.

"Are you kidding? At least five guys volunteered instead. Imagine us trying to explain that the only place you could safely send Taggart undercover was a choir practice."

"Simon, are you telling tales behind my back?" Joel was leaning against the door frame, looking amused. "It's all lies, Blair. I would have been just fine."

Blair and Simon exchanged glances and burst out laughing.

Jim joined them a few minutes later and the four men gathered around the table in Simon's office. Serena had no breakthroughs on the forensics end. Today they'd be splitting up to do the meat and potatoes of police work; interviews and follow-ups. They would be sifting through dozens, if not hundreds, of people, looking for the one strand that linked them together, assuming a link existed at all. It meant they'd be running across town all day long.

"I'll go get a car from the motor-pool, and Sandburg can have the truck," Jim said. He handed the keys to a surprised Blair. "Someone might make a police vehicle, even an unmarked one, when you go to the Oasis. The truck will blend right in."

"Sandburg, haven't you gotten yourself some transportation yet?" Simon asked.

"I haven't really had time to shop, Captain."

"Well, get to it soon. It makes the department look bad to have its detectives riding the bus to crime scenes."

"Simon," Blair protested.

"I tried to tell him, sir," Jim said. "We could have this thing done in two hours if he'd just listen to reason."

"I'll just bet," Simon said sarcastically. "Sandburg, get a vehicle. That's an order. If you don't have something by this time next week, I'll turn it over to Ellison, and you know what you'll probably get."

Blair was still protesting when they got on the elevator.

&&&&

Cold. What was worse than waking up cold?

The cracked, flaking ceiling mocked him. It was late. The grimy windows didn't let enough light in to wake him. Not that it mattered. It wasn't as if he really had anything to get up for most days.

He pulled the blanket away from the mattress and wrapped it around his shoulders. The only way to get warm was to leave, and today he actually had somewhere to be. His shoes felt like blocks of ice when he forced his feet into them. Cold, cold and more cold.

He turned the hot water tap on full blast and waited impatiently for the water to warm. His fingers ached and tingled when he thrust them into the stream. He drank three glasses straight from the tap. It wasn't coffee, but at least it warmed him from the inside out.

He tossed the blanket on the floor in disgust and grabbed his coat. He wanted to drive, but it was too risky to move his car, and the guy might ask for more money if he took it out and brought it back. He needed it for tonight, and that was the most important thing. He was stuck with the bus until the car was absolutely necessary.

He dug into his pants pocket and retrieved the roll of cash, pathetic as it was. Frank paid in cash, but he didn't pay very much. It was beneath him to be working there, but he had few options left. He counted each bill carefully. He was pretty sure he had enough to cover his special expenses. He just needed a few more pieces of information, some creative scrounging, and then he'd be set.

No working tonight. He had better things to do.

&&&&

Blair slid into a booth in the Oasis. The upholstery on the seat was torn in several places, and the plastic menu was crumpled and bent at the corners. It had to be at least ten years old. Hopefully, the food was prepared more recently.

Despite Simon's teasing, his work outfit wasn't grubby enough for this place. He'd put on his oldest pair of shoes while still in the truck, a battered pair of white Nikes with part of the toe torn off. He'd added a heavy plaid shirt that he used for camping, stained and torn on one sleeve, to his well-worn jeans. His hair pulled his hair back and tied with a leather thong. He skimmed the menu, and decided on the cheapest item, a grilled cheese sandwich and coffee. There were only a few other people in the place, but the waitress took her time getting there. She looked tired, bored and barely willing to take his order.

He waited for his meal, and watched people drift in for lunch. All in all, it was a pretty ragged crowd. A skinny young man came out of the kitchen area with a load of mugs and plates, still hot from the dishwasher. Blair easily recognized the jittery movements and too-bright eyes of someone desperately in need of a fix.

When the waitress brought his food, he politely asked for more coffee. When she returned, he smiled, hoping to engage her in a little conversation. "Thanks. You wouldn't know a place close by where I could stay? I'm not very picky."

She set the coffee pot on the table and looked him up and down. "About three blocks from here on Jefferson, there're a couple of places. You staying long?"

"I don't have enough cash to pay for much in advance. You think that would be okay?"

She sniffed. "Yeah. They'll let you pay one day at a time if you want." A loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by some colorful swearing and a full-fledged argument. The waitress looked at Blair with an expression of complete disgust. "That stupid Jason. This place is no palace, but even Frank will notice if you came to work strung out. Now I'll probably end up doing dishes and waiting tables."

"He's your only dishwasher?" Blair asked.

"Nah. Frank has a whole string of 'em that drift in. He pays in cash to keep it off the books, ya know? People like that aren't the most reliable. He'll scrounge up another one just like Jason to cover the work. You need a job, kid?"

"I might. What does it pay?"

"Less than minimum, but it pays. Look, come back later. It's not a good bet to ask Frank when he's already flown off the handle. Call sometime this afternoon. You got enough for a phone call?"

"Yeah. What's the number?"

She reached into the pocket of her smock and flipped a matchbook onto the table. "Number's on the back. Frank used to put them out on the tables for the customers, but he's to cheap to get them printed up so often. We still keep a stash of what's left up by the till." With that, she wandered off to fill another coffee cup.

Blair counted out the exact change for his bill. He would have left some extra, but it was best to stay in character, just in case he needed to come back. He pocketed the matchbook, smiling to himself as he slipped out of the Oasis. He could head back to the station with one sure accomplishment - the Oasis still had matchbooks available that matched the one found in Kim Hermann's rose bush, and if needed, he was certain he could infiltrate the place.

&&&&

"You're sure Jim got the message?" Simon asked.

"Positive," Joel said. "He's just running behind because Blair went home to change. They're sharing the truck, remember?" He looked up and smiled. "Speak of the devil, look who strolled in."

As Simon looked up, he saw his two errant detectives had just entered the restaurant. Blair saw him as well, and gave Jim a nudge with an elbow. He gestured in their direction. The two men wove their way through the restaurant. "Thank God you shaved, Sandburg," Simon said as the approached. "I was worried they wouldn't let you in."

"Hey, when my Captain invites me to dinner to one of the nicest places in town, I don't mess around." Blair slid into the booth opposite Joel and Simon with Jim right behind him. "I have to tell you, this is a huge step up from the Oasis. Maybe a whole staircase full."

The waitress came with their menus, and for a few minutes they discussed their choices. Simon noticed that Jim had his menu closed, and was spending more time examining the quiet alcove they were seated in. It was removed from the rest of the seating in the restaurant, and could be closed off completely by a partition. He had requested it specifically for that reason.

"I hope you're eating, Jim. I'm buying, you know."

"Just admiring the view, sir. Good place for a private conversation."

"That wasn't accidental. Consider it an extension of the work day."

Blair's head snapped up. "Did you say 'work'? And here I thought you just wanted my charming company."

"Point taken, Sandburg. We're going to have a nice meal, and then I want an honest review from the three of you on where the case stands at this point. I wanted us to have plenty of time to consider all the angles, and I wanted privacy."

Blair looked cautiously at Jim. "Three days isn't much time to spend on seven murders, Simon. Correction, nine. I almost forgot about the two we set aside in the beginning."

"I know that, but I had reservations about this project from the beginning." Blair and Jim exchanged glances again, but their expressions were unreadable. "I'm not willing to commit badly needed resources if it's a lost cause. That's what we'll decide tonight. Now let's order, and I'll pick a good bottle of wine."

The meal passed pleasantly enough. They followed Simon's rule of pleasure before business, but their conversation inexorably drifted to their case. By the time dessert was served and the waitress closed the partition for the last time, they were completely engaged.

"I just hate to stop investigating if there's a chance that we could stop the killer," Blair said.

"We all do, Sandburg." Simon picked absently at his napkin. "Unfortunately, if the cases aren't connected, then facts are facts."

"If we just drop them as unconnected, no one will work on any of them," Blair said, his frown deepening. "All of those families deserve to have someone in the Cascade PD working to bring them justice. We can pursue them as well as anyone else."

The thing is..." he paused and looked at Jim, "it isn't up to you and Jim to close every unsolved case we have. You're detectives, not miracle workers."

"But..."

"But nothing," Simon insisted firmly. "I'm going to go around the table. If 'maybe' isn't a possible answer, are the cases connected, yes or no? Joel?"

"There are some similarities, such as income level, but honestly, I think they're as connected as pulling nine cases out of the unsolved files at random."

"Jim?"

"I agree with Joel. If there's a common thread, we haven't found it. There is one exception. Serena used some sophisticated technique of looking at the shell casing from Durbane and Hsu." He held up his hand to ward off the questions before they were asked. "No, they weren't fired from the same gun or the same type of gun, but Serena thinks she can recover some partial fingerprints. It's not definite, but she'll know sometime tomorrow." He shook his head, with his gaze fastened firmly on his partner. "Other than that, I think it's a wash."

"Blair? You seem to be having more trouble with this than anyone."

The young man looked completely deflated. "I hate to, but I guess I agree. We could spend another couple of weeks looking for people or places that the victims have in common, but at this point, it would be sheer luck if something worked out."

Simon looked seriously from face to face. "That's good enough for me, gentlemen. As of tomorrow, you go back on regular duty. I'll add to the summary Blair gave me, and take it upstairs."

"That's not necessary," Jim said with a grim voice. "It was our case, sir. We should be the ones to say it's a no-go, and take the heat accordingly."

"As the judge says, Ellison, overruled. You should never have gotten this mess in the first place. It was a hare-brained idea when Martinson suggested it, and I should have put a stop to it." He noticed that Jim and Blair exchanged wordless glances again. Jim never let his thoughts show, but Blair was easier to read. A thought flickered across his eyes, as if an important piece of a puzzle had slid into place. In any case, it was his place as Captain to put this to rest. "Sandburg, tack on any current information to what you gave me earlier today. I'll add the wrap-up, and we'll consider this matter finished." When Simon spoke in that tone of voice and said a case was finished, then it was over. Despite any misgivings his three detectives may have had, they accepted his decision.

&&&&

Night noises. It was funny how many things you could hear at night.

Sleep had eluded Jim, and he'd quit fighting it an hour ago, content to listen to the night sounds. Sandburg was breathing softly, rustling between his sheets as he tossed and turned. The rain had tapered off to a noiseless mist, even to Jim's sensitive ears. He could hear rats in the alley below, but consciously avoided them. It gave him the creeps to think of rats in and around his building.

He could hear music from the club several streets over. Occasionally, the sounds of a boisterous conversation or loud argument would intrude, and he would push that away as well. He had enough problems of his own without borrowing them from other people.

He tried to drift, content to just listen and not react. He needed time to think, and the dead of night wasn't such a bad time for thinking. It was clear that he'd misjudged Simon, and thought the worst when it wasn't warranted. It was his own attitude that needed adjustment. And Joel? How did he feel about another being in the inner circle, so to speak?

He turned to his side, restless. It was clear to him that plenty of his colleagues had their own private suspicions. Did it really matter? What did it really change? Did he and Sandburg really do anything different than they ever did? They never had been able to use sentinel evidence in court. Everything had to have some additional confirmation to protect their secret. Were the suspicions of some guy down the hall or across town really something to fret over?

Maybe Joel was right. The task ahead of them was not to protect the so-called secret, but to manage the expectations. Was it any different for the first woman who graduated from the Police Academy, or for Joel or Simon, or any other groundbreaker who had gone before? When Simon Banks had made Captain, surely he'd balanced on the same knifepoint - had his position been handed to him by affirmative action, or because he was twice as good as everyone else? Maybe neither. Maybe both.

He winced when the fire sirens began, one after another. He consciously tuned them out. Somewhere in Cascade, someone was getting real busy, but it wasn't his turn. When they continued and were joined by a second and a third, tried to track their progress by sound. North, he decided, in the suburbs overlooking the bay. A big traffic accident, or a fire might generate that much activity. He forced the speculation away. He needed to sleep.

He'd barely slipped into a doze when the phone jerked him awake. It was a short call.

"We'll be right there," he said. "Yeah. Tell the uniforms not to leave them alone until we get there." He was already searching for something to wear as he spoke. It was 2AM. Shoes and clothes in hand, he bounded down the stairs.

"Sandburg! Wake up! We've got to go!"

"Wha..."

Jim flicked the light on. "Remember Tim Wilkins?"

"Michael Durbanes' partner. Yeah, I remember him," Blair said, rubbing his eyes. "Why do I need to know this in the middle of the night?"

"His house was just fire bombed. He and his wife damn near burned to death."

&&&&

Tim Wilkins was bone tired. He fidgeted in the cheap sweats that had been purchased in haste at a twenty-four hour chain store. They were better than the boxers and sweatshirt he'd fled his burning home in, but that was small comfort. The sky in the east was just beginning to lighten with false dawn. What a hell of a night it had been.

The man next to him sighed in frustration. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilkins, I don't think it's here. Can you think of anything else?"

Tim looked around the office. "I - let's see, customer lists, supplier lists."

"Get them," Blair said. "He's come back to you twice. The business is what you and Michael had in common. It's got to be here."

"Can we take a break? I'd like to call Kristin and make sure she's okay."

Blair looked chagrined. "Of course you can call her. She must be scared out of her wits. We're grateful you were willing to come down here and help with the investigation."

"I'm just glad someone is there guarding her. Besides, she agreed it was best. The only way to be truly safe is to catch this guy."

"Take your time." Blair looked around the office. "Do you have a coffeemaker? If you do, I'll start a pot."

"That would be great. The best one is two rooms down. I won't be long."

The coffee was just finishing when Blair saw Jim waving at him through the glass entrance doors. He pushed them open and Jim slid through. He shook the rain from his coat. "I'm soaked," he complained. "At least the storm helped put the fire out. The place is a total loss."

Blair gestured down the hallway. "He's calling his wife. I think they both knew the house was beyond saving. What did the arson investigators say?"

"It was an amateur job, but not casual. Separate fires were started at every easy exit, plus what was chucked through their bedroom window. The arsonist hoped to trap them in there. Are you guys having any luck?" He followed Blair down the hall, and gratefully accepted the coffee.

"I wish." Blair poured two more cups for himself and Wilkins. "We're going to look at customer lists and supplier lists next. I swear, I just don't know what to do."

"Neither do I." Jim checked down the hallway. Wilkins was still on the phone, paying no attention to them. "Do you think he's come clean with us?"

"The human lie detector would know better than I would." Blair thought for a moment. "I think he's telling the absolute truth, especially now."

"Well, let's have at it." Jim sat down at the table where Blair and Wilkins had been working earlier. Wilkins finished his call and brought out another stack of files. They spent another twenty minutes reading and sorting before Jim pushed his chair back in frustration. "Maybe we're looking at this from the wrong angle."

"Well, suggest away, Jim," Blair said, making no effort to hide his fatigue. "I'm all ears."

"Everything you've given us was current stuff, right?" he asked Wilkins. The man nodded, clearly not understanding what line of reasoning Jim was taking. "Well, what about people you don't do business with anymore."

Wilkins face was blank, and then flared with understanding. "Okay, I get it," he said. "Uh, customers we dropped for non-payment, things like that." His brow furrowed. "I don't know how to get that," he said in a doubtful voice.

"Do you keep year end summaries?" Blair asked. "Could we compare last year with this year?"

"Maybe." He jumped out of his chair. "I'll call Alan and get him down here. He's one of my best computer guys. If I can't figure it out, maybe he can."

They kept at it, trying every possible variation they could think of. Alan, when he arrived, was a godsend and swiftly buried them in possibilities. It was approaching 7AM when Jim finally called a halt.

"That's it. We've done everything twice. We all need to get some sleep. Mr. Wilkins, we'll take you back to your hotel."

"Detective, you're just as beat as I am. Alan can take me."

"As much as I appreciate the offer, you're under protective custody. It's safer if we're the only ones who know where you are." Jim walked Alan to the door, still discussing what the computer could churn out for them, and thanking him for his cooperation. Blair was left with Wilkins.

"We'll do everything we can to find this guy," Blair said, trying to convince himself at the same time.

Wilkins smiled ruefully. "I know that." He stretched. "I don't know about you, but it seems like weeks since I sent you off the first time with the list of our mergers and acquisitions." His eyes went wide at the same time Blair's did. "Shit. Acquisitions in reverse."

"Deals that didn't go through," Blair said excitedly. "You don't keep lists of those, do you?"

"No, but I can reconstruct them from Michael's appointment book. He and I keep them on file, as a record." He was already racing down the hall toward Michael's office.

"Jim!" Blair shouted. He nearly crashed in to his partner going the other way.

"What?" Jim asked.

"We didn't check the failed deals, man. If you stay with Wilkins, I'll go back to the station and get those damn lists."

"Stay put, Chief. Simon's already there. I'll call and get them sent over. Go help Wilkins."

Joel arrived in record time, carrying the now infamous lists. Commandeering one of the conference rooms, they set up with Wilkins reading names as he found them and the rest of them checking. Again, Collings, the banker, was giving them fits.

"Did the guy approve every damn loan in Cascade?" Blair said in frustration. He looked at Wilkins. "Why don't you guys go to other banks just to stimulate variety?"

Jim chuckled. "Don't let my father hear you say something like that. Business is not about stimulating variety."

"Yeah, yeah," Blair groused. "Thank you corporate America and all its stupid rules - no offense intended, Tim."

"None taken. The next one is Howard Jording." He looked up from the appointment book. "We were looking for warehouse property and selected another site."

"He's on Collings," Blair said wearily. "Big surprise."

"He's on Kim Hermann," Joel said. "Makes sense if he was selling land or property."

Jim scanned the other lists. Jording's name was nowhere to be found.

"I don't care," Blair said stubbornly. "He's the only one on two lists out of all the ones we've checked so far."

"Okay, so we'll run with it," Jim said. "You call Terry Freeman at Tyler Hsu's office. See if the name rings any bells. I'll call the accounting place." He looked around for the nearest phone.

"There's one here, and Blair can use the one next door," Wilkins suggested.

"What time frame are we talking about?" Jim asked as he dialed.

Wilkins checked, thumbing through the appointment books. "Our initial conversations were in November, year before last. We decided on the other property in the following March."

"How much was the sale worth?" Jim asked.

"It was a prime location," Wilkins said. "Two million, maybe more. We discussed price, but withdrew our offer when we found the other site."

"You hear that, Sandburg?" Jim called, and then turned his attention back to the phone. "Yes, this is Detective Jim Ellison. I'm assigned to the investigation of Mary Gilkey's murder. I need to speak to the most senior person in the office immediately. No, later this afternoon is not acceptable. I need to speak with them now." He was still on hold when Blair rushed back in.

"Score one for the good guys," he said. "They're double checking, but Terry Freeman is sure that Howard Jording was one of their original investors, and sold his block of stock when it was almost at rock bottom. That's why he's not on our lists - he sold out. She says she has a pretty clear memory of Tyler Hsu trying to get him to hold on, but he sold because he was in some sort of cash crisis."

"When was this?" Joel asked.

"Late spring or early summer was all she could remember. She also said he was an overconfident jerk. He liked playing the role of the big investor out on the edge, but didn't like accepting the risks that went with the position."

"I'll call the bank and get some info on his accounts," Joel offered. Jim was talking at the same time, but it was hard to read just his end of the conversation. He nodded at them. At least it looked promising. They waited, frozen in anticipation.

"Thank you very much. Yes, that would be a great help." Jim hung up the phone, a look of disbelief on his face. "We are living under a star. Howard Jording isn't on the client list because he filed for bankruptcy late last year. They closed his account for non-payment, but Mary Gilkey was his account manager for the last four years. He sent the firm several letters accusing them of mishandling his money. The accounting firm sees it differently. They say he lived extravagantly and took too many risks without sufficient capital."

"I'm going," said Joel. "The bank's next." He checked the time. "I'll call Collings' administrative assistant at home, and I'll try to get an address."

"How can this be possible?" Tim Wilkins asked. He'd slumped into a chair. His face was almost gray, and he was thoroughly shaken. "We've lost Michael over a stupid piece of property that we didn't buy?" He buried his head in his hands. "Oh, my God."

&&&&

They were so close, and then they weren't. It took them the remainder of the morning to piece together the sequence of Howard Jording's slide from prosperity into despair. Financially overextended, the failed sale of property to Tim Wilkins and Michael Durbane had been the first of a series of dominoes, ending in divorce, bankruptcy and the liquidation of all his assets. The only address still on file with the bank was a box at the Post Office. No one knew where he was.

"We don't have a choice," said Simon. "The only link we have is the Oasis. We have to use it."

"What do you think, Chief? Would that waitress give up Jording if we asked her?" Jim asked.

"I don't know," Blair answered. "She didn't talk like there was any love-loss between her and anyone in the place, but she might not like cops, either. We don't know whether Jording works there, or is a customer. Even if she was willing, I didn't get the impression that she'd know where anyone lives. From what she said about the employees, it was just like they wandered in, did some dishes, and got paid."

"Staking the place out isn't really an option either," Joel said. "We don't really know what he looks like, and the DMV photo isn't much help. It's way too generic."

"Blair?" Simon asked.

"I'll go, definitely. It's not like it's dangerous. I can just call if or when, he shows up." He shook his head. "No. Gotta be positive. Now that we've gotten this far, he's got to show up."

"Rethink that plan, partner," Jim said, shaking his head. "I'll be close by. As soon as you see him, you walk outside, and we'll grab him."

Blair looked down at his clothes. "I need to change," he said.

Joel slapped Jim on the back. "Set it up, Jim. I'll drop Blair off when you when you have everything in place."

&&&&

The Oasis looked every bit as seedy as it had on the previous day. Blair stood quietly by the cash register until the waitress noticed him.

"Hi." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to look uneasy and a little desperate.

"You're back, huh?" The act must have worked, because she seemed to take pity. "You find a place to sleep?"

"Yeah, but it kind of put a crimp in my cash flow. I could sure use a couple of hours of work. Could you ask Frank?"

"Come on back," she said. "The day guy didn't show up." Blair followed her into the kitchen. He tried to keep a straight face and not think about the grilled cheese he'd eaten the day before. Maybe there were shots he should get.

"Frank! I got us some help. You gonna pay him, or do I have to threaten to quit again?"

Frank eyed Blair up and down. "I'll pay five bucks an hour today. You work out, maybe I kick in a little bit more."

"I'll take it."

Frank tossed a grubby dishtowel in Blair's direction. "Then get in there and get busy. We're way behind. I'll give you a break at three."

The waitress shrugged and disappeared. Blair was left alone with the biggest, grimiest, pile of pans and crockery he had ever seen. It didn't look like anyone had cleaned since the hapless Jason had been sent packing the previous day. Daunted by the task ahead, he started piling the dishes so he could at least fill the big metal sink with water and get started.

Knowing that Jim was outside, and certainly listening in, made the afternoon somewhat entertaining. There was rarely anyone near by, so Blair kept up a running monologue, speaking in a low, soft voice. He cheerfully complained about the mountain of dishes he was washing, described the customers, and frequently announced that he was never washing another dish in the loft - ever. He used every opportunity to return utensils to the serving areas in small loads, giving him more time to monitor the restaurant and bar. When he could, he refilled water or coffee, and took time to say hello or strike up a brief conversation, hoping to locate their quarry. Then he would retreat to the sink and return to his monologue.

By mid-afternoon, the place was cleared of customers and the pile was down to its last two layers. Frank surveyed the afternoon's results and grudgingly told Blair to take his break. He handed him a tuna sandwich and told him to go out back in the alley.

"Go on," he said. "The help don't eat with the customers. Be back in ten minutes or I'll dock your pay."

"Wouldn't want that," muttered Blair. "I am so calling the Department of Labor and Industry when this is over." He traipsed past the walk-in refrigerator and exited out the back door. He stood in the alley, amidst soggy cardboard boxes and the dumpster, grateful to draw in a few lungfuls of air without smoke. Actually, he could call an inspector for that, too. "Hey, Jim, can you hear me?" he said. "I'm in the alley out back. If you've got anything to eat, bring it, okay? I've got some tuna here that ranks right up there with nuclear waste." With that, he tossed the thing in an open dumpster. A few minutes later Jim appeared at the far end of the alley, carefully checking for any observers.

"Sorry. All I could find in the truck was a granola bar. It feels kind of - hard."

Blair tore the package open with his teeth. "I'll take it. This place is a major dive, man. I need preventive antibiotics."

"Not to mention your poor dishpan hands. You need a nightclub act. I blew coffee out my nose twice. You have any idea how that feels with my senses?"

Blair grinned. "Take me on the road. You can be my agent."

"Any sign of Jording?"

"No. I pumped the waitress a little. All I can find out is the next one in is an older guy, and he usually arrives on time. That sounds like Jording, don't you think?"

"Keep me posted. I can hear you just fine, by the way."

"They want me to stay if the guy doesn't show." Blair had managed to gnaw through about half of the granola bar. "What do you think?"

Jim considered for a moment before answering. "Give them an extra hour at the most, then tell them you'll come back tomorrow. Hopefully, we can avoid it, and I can get you a decent meal."

"I've got to get back in there. Frank threatened to dock my pay." He grinned slyly. "My only consolation is that as soon as we're done here, I'm making a list of all the inspectors I can call down on this place."

"That's my Sandburg. Always crusading for justice," Jim teased. His tone turned serious. "Watch yourself if Jording shows up. He may have been Joe Ordinary once, but he's a killer now. An indiscriminate one."

Blair spent the rest of the afternoon washing glasses and attacking three frying pans that might have been new in the seventies. He wasn't as busy, and the place was nearly empty. His monologue for Jim gradually petered out.

He had way too much time on his hands. His thoughts were drifting. He mentally ticked through the details on each murder, becoming more depressed with each victim. He knew this was treacherous ground, the subject of many a lecture from his partner. "A cop checks his feelings at the door." It was practically a mantra as far has Jim was concerned. Blair didn't resent the more experienced man's position. If Detective Sandburg had an Achille's Heel, it came in the form of caring too much. Jim was just trying to watch out for him.

He considered his growing unease. Okay, so it was his weak spot, but why was it coming to the fore? He remembered Simon's looks the previous evening. Simon knew when one of his men was skirting the edge. Maybe it was the sheer number of senseless deaths they were concentrating on that was the problem.

He grabbed some silverware and walked out front to break the spiral of his thoughts. He fiddled around, needlessly reorganizing, muttering to Jim as he went. He made trip after trip between the sink and the counter, just to kill time and watch every area of the restaurant. Frank had retired to a chair off the kitchen and was working his way through a six pack. Shortly after five, a dark haired man slid into one of the bar stools and ordered a coffee. It was hard to tell, but he fit the general description they had of Howard Jording.

Blair ducked out the back door. "Jim, he might be here. Just came in and sat down at the bar. It's up to you, man - come in or not." Blair let himself back in and checked the bar. He eased back to stand at the corner by the walk-in. From there, he was shielded from the kitchen, and could observe the restaurant without being noticed.

Howard Jording, if he was Howard Jording, was exchanging glares with the waitress. When glaring didn't work, he banged his empty mug on the counter and said, "I'm paying for this coffee, and I need a refill."

The waitress plunked the pot on the bar. "I'm busy. Fill it yourself. Who do you think you are? Some Arab shiek? The crown prince?"

"I need to talk to Frank."

"So go talk to him. No one's stopping you."

"Just tell him, and I'll wait here."

Blair hustled back to his sink and tried to look busy when she passed. He could hear their voices in the kitchen. Hurriedly, he grabbed a tray and filled it with glasses so he'd have an excuse for being out front again. He was just picking up the tray when he heard Jim's voice. He'd decided to come in after all. He peeked quickly into the bar.

"They have a waitress in here?" Jim was sitting two seats down from the man they thought was Jording. He was wearing a worn Army surplus jacket that Blair had seen stored in the basement.

"Sometimes," said the man with a sneer. "And the one they've got doesn't count for much," he added in a louder voice.

The waitress stalked out of the kitchen, followed closely by Frank. After they stomped by, Blair slipped back to his spot by the walk-in where he could watch what was going on out front.

The waitress poured Jim a coffee, and he accepted a menu. Frank moved farther down to stand in front of Jording.

"Why are you here, Howard? Thought you quit," Frank snapped. Blair did a silent cheer in the back. Howard! How many Howards could there be in the Oasis? It had to be Jording.

"Who said anything about quitting? I was sick."

"You don't look sick to me."

"That's because I was sick yesterday, not today. Look, I want to work a couple of extra shifts. Can you work that out?"

"I don't know why I should," Frank growled. "You're damn undependable. I sent word to your place yesterday, and you weren't there. Who goes out when they're sick?"

"Just make up your mind," Howard said impatiently.

"I'll see what I can do. Now get back there and start your shift." Swearing, Frank stalked back to the kitchen.

Jording took two steps before Jim intercepted him. "Howard Jording?" he asked.

Jording eyed Jim up and down. "Yeah, who are you?"

"Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. I'd like you to step outside"

Blair couldn't see Jim's face, but he had a clear view of Jording. The man looked down the coffee cup he was still holding, apparently trying to hide his emotions. Not that it would do him any good. Jim was no doubt following every beat of his heart.

"And if I don't want to?" Jording asked. His body had tensed, his voice wary.

Jim stood, looking down from his full height. Blair smiled. Jim could have given lessons on physical intimidation. "You want to make your life difficult, be my guest."

Jording's nerve broke. He tossed his nearly full cup of coffee at Jim's face, and threw a punch aimed at Jim's midriff. It was sudden, but Jim didn't have any problems ducking the liquid and deflecting the attack. After a brief flurry, Jording was face down on the floor, listening to Jim recite Miranda.

Blair tuned the rest out. Jording had made a very stupid move. Based on the evidence, they could have asked Jording to come in for questioning, but an arrest would have been problematic. Assaulting a police officer simplified their lives immensely. Jim would call in the backup to transport Jording to the station. Blair took off his apron and wondered if they had room in the loft for a dishwasher.

&&&&

Simon and Blair waited impatiently outside of Interrogation Room 3 while Jim questioned Howard Jording. It wasn't going well, but Jording hadn't clammed up and asked for a lawyer either. Apparently he still thought he could talk his way out.

"How's Serena doing with the fingerprints?" Simon asked. "Do they match the shell casings?"

"She's still at it. It will have to be sent to a fingerprint expert, no matter what. We're in trouble, aren't we?"

Simon nodded. "The DA isn't sure we can hold him. It's a weak case without some corroborating physical evidence."

"Joel's searching his place. He has a car somewhere - a repo company has been looking for it for almost a month. Jim thinks he's stashed it close by. We have a description of the car. We have two units searching the area looking for it. Jim thinks he probably used it last night. You don't haul a couple gallons of flammables across town in a cab, or take it on the bus. We could canvass the neighborhoods of the other victims with his picture and a description of the car. We might get lucky and place him in the area."

"Do it," Simon said briskly. "If we don't, we stand a good chance of losing this guy." He stared through the one-way glass of the interrogation room. Jim was an exceptional interrogator. If anyone could get Howard Jording to crack, it would be Jim. "Go on, Sandburg. I'll let you know if anything happens."

The next few hours were agonizing. They were teetering on the brink of having to release Howard Jording without charging him for the murders. Then the tide turned.

A patrol unit found Jording's car. The trunk reeked of kerosene, gasoline and God knew what else. On the front seat they found a page ripped from the phone book. Tim Wilkin's listing, with his home address, just happened to be on that particular page.

Serena matched a partial thumbprint on the inside of the matchbook. It placed Jording at the scene of Kim Hermann's murder.

At Jim's suggestion, Blair started calling gun dealers. Jording had no weapons at his apartment, and Jim guessed that he was too hard up for cash to buy a gun and then throw it away. On the third dealer, they struck gold. The dealer had purchased a 45 revolver from Jording two days after Tyler Hsu was shot in his office. The weapon was still in the store. Blair ran the siren all the way to pick it up. The ballistics matched. Blair drafted every spare body to call more gun dealers and pawn shops looking for the remaining two weapons.

When they located the shotgun, and traced it back to their suspect, Jording was formally charged with murder. Sensing his luck had run out, he asked for representation. His cell in the basement of the PD was actually a step up from his most recent accommodations. Simon called everyone back in for a meeting in his office.

When Jim and Blair arrived, Beverly Sanchez was on her way out. She congratulated the two detectives. "We're charging him with Collings and Hsu for murder, and attempted murder and arson on Tim Wilkins and his wife," she said. "Unless he confesses, we need a weapon for Durbane. I don't know if we can make the hit and run on Gilkey stick, but the lab's going over the car. Maybe they'll find something."

"Is a confession a possibility?" Jim asked. There was a soft knock on the door, and Joel Taggart slipped in.

"His lawyer is hinting that he might trade a confession for an insanity plea and sentencing recommendation."

"You're not considering it, are you?" Blair asked. He looked at Jim in horror. "This guy is a multiple murderer, and he was sane enough to cover his tracks real well."

"Not if we have enough evidence to be sure of a conviction," Beverley said. "I understand how you guys feel about plea bargains, but if I can't be sure of having him behind bars, I'll settle for a hospital."

Simon didn't look satisfied. "You won't make a deal right away, will you? You'll give us some time to work?"

"Absolutely," Beverly stated firmly. "You have my word on it. My preference is for a conviction."

"Maybe you can use this," Joel said. "We found it in his apartment." He handed a sheet of paper sealed in an evidence bag. "It's a letter to his wife. He doesn't name any names, but he blames all their troubles on his banker, the accountant...he even mentions being conned on tech stocks, which fits what we know about Hsu."

Beverly skimmed the letter and returned it. "It's not the nail in the coffin, but it will help establish motive. I'll give you as long as I can, gentlemen. If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with Jording's lawyer." With a quick smile, she left.

"We'll keep working on it, Simon," Jim promised.

"I know you will, but five out of nine cases is damn fine work, even if we can't take all of them to trial."

"Six," said Taggart softly. "I'm afraid it's six."

"Who?" Blair asked.

"I got to thinking - bankruptcy, Jording loses his home. They auctioned off his belongings." Joel dropped into a chair. "Anton Bryant told me Marian had just redecorated their den with furniture she bought at an estate sale. I called the auction house and they ran a trace for me. The furniture in Marian and Anton's den were antiques liquidated from Jording's home. I talked to some of the auction house employees. They remembered Jording. Apparently he fancied himself quite the collector. He tried to sneak some of the pieces out, even though everything had been seized by the bank." Joel closed his eyes and shook his head. "It was a mixed sale. I'm sure Marian had no idea they were on the market due to bankruptcy."

"He strangled her because she bought his furniture?" Jim asked, totally incredulous.

Joel looked sick at heart, and nodded. "I think he was trying to take revenge on everyone he even remotely associated with his own disaster. Who knows when he would have stopped?" The expression on his face was bleak. "How am I going to tell Anton?"

They sat in stunned silence.

Blair stammered," I gotta take a minute." He dashed from the office. Jim was on his feet to go after him when Simon caught his arm.

"It's all right, Jim. Let him go. On this one occasion, I think we can let Sandburg be Blair instead of a cop."

Epilogue

It was Saturday. Blair was still especially quiet, and Jim hoped to coax him out of his shell. The case against Howard Jording was coming together well. They were painstakingly building a picture of a man who had transformed his financial reversals into a killing rage. He'd systematically hunted down the people he held responsible.

Blair hadn't been the same since Joel's revelation concerning Marian Bryant. He'd been working nonstop, tracking down corroborating evidence using all sorts of innovative methods. Jim was both impressed, and worried. A quiet, withdrawn Sandburg was great cause for concern in Jim Ellison's book. Not even Jim's world famous blueberry pancakes had done the trick.

Jim knew he needed a new strategy.

He grabbed the classified section of the paper. "Hey, Chief," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "Why don't you fire up your computer and show me what you were thinking about for a car? There are some great deals advertised in the paper. We can go all over town today if you want."

"A car?" Blair was looking like him as though he'd suggested a root canal. "I don't think so," Blair said quickly, looking down at his hands.

"Oh, come on." Jim teased. "You're practically under orders from Simon. I promise to not even mention the superiority of Fords. I'll even ride in one of those weird hybrid things you were talking about." He stopped. Blair looked totally stricken. "Hey - what's wrong? Blair?"

Blair finally looked at him. His eyes were shining with tears. "I can't." His voice cracked.

"What do you mean, you can't? I know we haven't had time with the case, but I'll take you anywhere you want to go today. What's got you so upset?"

"I mean, I won't. After Jording." The pitch of Blair's voice rose in frustration and hurt. "God help us, he killed people over furniture. A possession he lost through his own stupidity was more important than a life. I - just don't want to own - anything material right now." He bolted from the table and onto the balcony, his back to Jim.

Jim watched him for a moment, thinking back on Simon's words. _Let Blair be Blair._ He walked to the balcony and wrapped an arm around his partner's shoulders. "Yeah," he said gently. "Yeah, I know."

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at Mackie's Idol Pursuits. Thank you, Mackie, for giving them a home for so long.


End file.
